Fantasy

I dreamed a dream and in it was love He had not a face nor a form But deep in his being there beated a heart Far surpassing the average or norm I didn't deserve him, this enchanter of sense Unworthy of bliss or affection But on my creased brow he planted a kiss Led me down an untrodden direction Be it here, be it there, be it ne'er more than fancy The love that my dream's dreams have dreamed My heart e'er belongs to the last hope who loved me Though lonely and timid I seem Be it here, be it there, be it ne'er more than fancy The wish that my heart's whim desires What the future might hold is a book of its own And on loose leaf my fantasies pile.