The Dream Songtext
von Ketil Bjørnstad

Image of her whom I love, more than she
Whose fair impression in my faithful heart
Makes me her medal, and makes her love me
As kings do coins, to which their stamps impart
The value: go, and take my heart from hence
Which now is grown too great and good for me:
Honours oppress weak spirits, and our sense
Strong objects dull; the more, the less we see

When you are gone, and reason gone with you
Then fantasy is queen and soul, and all
She can present joys meaner than you do
Convenient, and more proportional


So, if I dream I have you, I have you
For, all our joys are but fantastical
And so I ′scape the pain, for pain is true
And sleep which locks ups sense, doth lock out all

After a such friction I shall wake
And, but the waking, nothing shall repent
And shall to love more thankful sonnets make
Than if more honour, tears, and pains were spent

Bur dearest heart, and dearer image stay
Alas, true joys at best are dream enough
Though you stay here you pass too fast away:
For even at first life's taper is a snuff

Filled with here love, may I be rather grown
Mad with much heart, than idiot with none