A Dream Poem by Maggie Pogue Johnson

I had a dream one winter's night,
It filled my soul with pure delight;
Ne'er ran my tho'ts in strains so sweet,
I'm filled with rapture to repeat.
Oh could I dream that dream again,
'Twould be a song, a sweet refrain;
Oh could I wake to find it true,
'Twould then my happy tho'ts renew.
Dreams, sweet dreams of the past,
Which o'er our lives bright shadows cast;
Yet, sometimes in their course they change,
And pleasure clouds they disarrange.
What disappointments we do meet,
In dreaming dreams, yea, dreams so sweet;
Joy and happiness flow in streams,—
We wake to find it but a dream.
What is this mysterious way
In which we think we spend a day,
Awakening ourselves amid delight
Finding out 'tis not day but night.
'Tis a fancy which o'er us does creep,
When in that state of rest called sleep,
The light of imagination which does beam
And form what we always term a dream.
A dream is a miniature life,
Often lived in a single night;
When pleasant, this tho't oft does gleam,
Oh could we live just as we dream.