His Dream

On a still, silent night, scarce could I numberOne of the clock, but that a golden slumberHad lockt my senses fast, and carried meInto a world of blest felicity,I know not how: first to a garden, where5The apricock, the cherry, and the pear,The strawberry, and plum, were fairer farThan that eye-pleasing fruit that caus'd the jarBetwixt the goddesses, and tempted moreThan fair Atlanta's ball, though gilded o'er.10I gaz'd awhile on these, and presentlyA silver stream ran softly gliding by,Upon whose banks, lilies more white than snowNew fall'n from heaven, with violets mixt, did grow;Whose scent so chaf'd the neighbour air, that you15Would surely swear that Arabick spices grewNot far from thence, or that the place had beenWith musk prepar'd, to entertain Love's queen.Whilst I admir'd, the river past away,And up a grove did spring, green as in May20When April had been moist; upon whose bushesThe pretty robins, nightingales, and thrushesWarbled their notes so sweetly, that my earsDid judge at least the musick of the spheres.But here my gentle dream conveyed me25Into the place where I most long'd to see,My mistress' bed; who, some few blushes pastAnd smiling frowns, contented was at lastTo let me touch her neck; I, not contentWith that, slipt to her breast, thence lower went,30And then—— I awak'd.