O queen, O temptress, do invade my sleep,
That I may see the fancies of your worth;
And let me dream your being mine in mirth
While seconds in our hourglasses leap;
I wish for you, that you will sweetly keep
Me confidant to see your royal earth.
Yet even as I hold your slender girth,
My dreams a harvest ripe for you to reap,
You tempt me still, O queen, with greater height,
And swooning do I dream you unto me,
The surfeit of which then becomes my light:
So is it you? Or just a dream I see?
I hold you long, and feel you hold on tight—
This is a dream; what dreaming you must be!