William Shakespeare (1564–1616)

Romeo.—If I may trust the flattering eye of sleep,

My dreams presage some joyful news at hand:

My bosom’s lord sits lightly in his throne;

And all this day an unaccustomed spirit

Lifts me above the ground with cheerful thoughts.

I dreamt my lady came and found me dead;

(Strange dream that gives a dead man leave to think,)

And breathed such life with kisses in my lips,

That I revived and was an emperor.

Ah, me! how sweet is love itself possessed

When but love’s shadows are so rich in joy.