Sonnet XIV

In my romantic dream she comes to me.
The herald of our long-awaited bliss,
A nightingale, sings sweetly from a tree.
Under the stars and moon-glow we both kiss.

As holy angels from above watch o’er
The hedge of night does make way for the dawn.
She wakes within my warm bosom’s enclosure.
As taking rest upon my heart thereon.

Yet with the signal of the morning light,
When we are brought to an enchanted state,
The world unrolls like a scroll in our sight.
Wherefore, we are blessed by the hand of fate.

Methinks this vision is of heaven’s will;
A wish God is most gladdened to fulfill.