To M. S. G

When I dream that you love me, you'll surely forgive; Extend not your anger to sleep; For in visions alone your affection can live,-- I rise, and it leaves me to weep. Then, Morpheus! envelop my faculties fast, Shed o'er me your languor benign; Should the dream of to-night but resemble the last, What rapture celestial is mine! They tell us that slumber, the sister of death, Mortality's emblem is given; To fate how I long to resign my frail breath, If this be a foretaste of Heaven!…