John Donne

The Dreame

Deare love, for nothing lesse than thee 
Would I have broke this happy dream; 
            It was a theame 
For reason, much too strong for phantasie, 
Therefore thou wakd'st me wisely; yet 
My Dreame thou brok'st not, but continued'st it. 
Thou art so truth, that thoughts of thee suffice 
To make dreames truths, and fables histories; 
Enter these armes, for since thou thoughtst it best, 
Not to dreame all my dreame, let's act the rest. 

As lightning, or a Tapers light, 
Thine eyes, and not thy noise wak'd mee; 
            Yet I thought thee 
(For thou lovest truth) an Angell, at first sight; 
But when I saw thou sawest my heart, 
And knew'st my thoughts, beyond an Angel's art, 
When thou knew'st what I dreamt, when thou knew'st when 
Excesse of joy would wake me, and cam'st then, 
I must confesse, it could not chuse but bee 
Prophane, to thinke thee any thing but thee. 

Comming and staying show'd thee, thee, 
But rising makes me doubt, that now 
            Thou art not thou. 
That love is weake, where feare's as strong as hee; 
'Tis not all spirit, pure and brave, 
If mixture it of Feare, Shame, Honor, have; 
Perchance as torches, which must ready bee, 
Men light and put out, so thou deal'st with mee; 
Thou cam'st to kindle, goest to come; Then I 
Will dreame that hope againe, but else would die.