Poem by George Gordon Byron

To M.S.G. (When I dream that you love me, you'll surely forgive)

1.

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.

2.

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!

3.

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!

4.

Ah! frown not, sweet Lady, unbend your soft brow,
   ⁠Nor deem me too happy in this;
If I sin in my dream, I atone for it now,
⁠   Thus doom'd, but to gaze upon bliss.

5.

Though in visions, sweet Lady, perhaps you may smile,
⁠   Oh! think not my penance deficient!
When dreams of your presence my slumbers beguile,
⁠   To awake, will be torture sufficient.

1. Epitaph
2. Churchill’s Grave
3. On a Change of Masters at a Great Public School
4. Lines Addressed to a Young Lady
5. To the Earl of Clare

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