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I had but two little wings, And were a little feathery bird, To you I'd fly, my dear! But thoughts like these are idle things, And I stay here.

But in my sleep to you I fly: I'm always with you in my sleep; The world is all one's own. But then one wakes, and where am I? All, all alone.

Sleep stays not, though a monarch bids: So I love to wake ere break of day: For though my sleep be gone, Yet, while 'tis dark, one shuts one's lids, And still dreams on.