Am I waking, am I sleeping?
As the first faint dawn comes creeping 
Thro' the pane, I am aware
Of an unseen presence hovering,
Round, above, in the dusky air:
A downy bird, with an odorous wing,
That fans my forehead, and sheds perfume, 
As sweet as love, as soft as death, 
Drowsy-slow through the summer-gloom. 
My heart in some dream-rapture saith,
It is she. Half in a swoon,
I spread my arms in slow delight.—
O prolong, prolong the night,
For the nights are short in June!