She comes to me and drives away the night
while mourning doves announce the day’s begun;
she comes to me as if a vision, bright
and warm, afloat on glowing rays of sun.
So soft, so sweet, she fills the morning air
with an allure that draws, inflames, compels:
I turn to touch her, slowly, taking care
that neither haste nor hunger break the spell.
Will she fade, slipping back into my dreams?
Do kisses pierce the sleeping lover’s charm?
Or can the night’s imaginings still gleam
once I have held her in my loving arms?
They can, when dearest visions draw so near,
and I awake to find my dream is here.