John Donne's "The Dream" explores love, desire, and the tension between fantasy and reality. The speaker wakes up from an intimate dream of his beloved to find that she's right there next to him, making it seem as though his dream has spilled over into real life. This lady must be even more powerful than an angel, the speaker argues, because she was able to see into his dream and wake him up at the perfect time. Yet rather than act out "the rest" of the dream with him (by which the speaker means sleep with him), this lady seems to be about to depart. The poem suggests that one of the joys of love is its ability to blur the boundaries between dreams and the waking world. At the same time, it suggests that one of the disappointments of love is that idealized fantasies rarely match exactly with reality. Like most of Donne's poems, "The Dream" wasn't published until some years after his death; it first appeared in the posthumous collection Poems (1633).
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1Dear love, for nothing less than thee
2Would I have broke this happy dream;
3It was a theme
4For reason, much too strong for fantasy,
5Therefore thou wak'dst me wisely; yet
6My dream thou brok'st not, but continuedst it.
7Thou art so true that thoughts of thee suffice
8To make dreams truths, and fables histories;
9Enter these arms, for since thou thought'st it best,
10Not to dream all my dream, let's do the rest.
11 As lightning, or a taper's light,
12Thine eyes, and not thy noise, wak'd me;
13Yet I thought thee
14(For thou lovest truth) an angel, at first sight;
15But when I saw thou sawest my heart,
16And knew'st my thoughts, beyond an angel's art,
17When thou knew'st what I dreamt, when thou knew'st when
18Excess of joy would wake me, and cam'st then,
19I must confess, it could not choose but be
20Profane, to think thee anything but thee.
21 Coming and staying show'd thee, thee,
22But rising makes me doubt, that now
23Thou art not thou.
24That love is weak, where fear's as strong as he;
25'Tis not all spirit, pure, and brave,
26If mixture it of fear, shame, honour have.
27Perchance, as torches which must ready be,
28Men light and put out, so thou deal'st with me;
29Thou cam'st to kindle, goest to come; then I
30Will dream that hope again, but else would die.
1Dear love, for nothing less than thee
2Would I have broke this happy dream;
3It was a theme
4For reason, much too strong for fantasy,
5Therefore thou wak'dst me wisely; yet
6My dream thou brok'st not, but continuedst it.
7Thou art so true that thoughts of thee suffice
8To make dreams truths, and fables histories;
9Enter these arms, for since thou thought'st it best,
10Not to dream all my dream, let's do the rest.
11 As lightning, or a taper's light,
12Thine eyes, and not thy noise, wak'd me;
13Yet I thought thee
14(For thou lovest truth) an angel, at first sight;
15But when I saw thou sawest my heart,
16And knew'st my thoughts, beyond an angel's art,
17When thou knew'st what I dreamt, when thou knew'st when
18Excess of joy would wake me, and cam'st then,
19I must confess, it could not choose but be
20Profane, to think thee anything but thee.
21 Coming and staying show'd thee, thee,
22But rising makes me doubt, that now
23Thou art not thou.
24That love is weak, where fear's as strong as he;
25'Tis not all spirit, pure, and brave,
26If mixture it of fear, shame, honour have.
27Perchance, as torches which must ready be,
28Men light and put out, so thou deal'st with me;
29Thou cam'st to kindle, goest to come; then I
30Will dream that hope again, but else would die.
Dear love, for nothing less than thee
Would I have broke this happy dream;
It was a theme
For reason, much too strong for fantasy,
Therefore thou wak'dst me wisely; yet
My dream thou brok'st not, but continuedst it.
Thou art so true that thoughts of thee suffice
To make dreams truths, and fables histories;
Enter these arms, for since thou thought'st it best,
Not to dream all my dream, let's do the rest.
As lightning, or a taper's light,
Thine eyes, and not thy noise, wak'd me;
Yet I thought thee
(For thou lovest truth) an angel, at first sight;
But when I saw thou sawest my heart,
And knew'st my thoughts, beyond an angel's art,
When thou knew'st what I dreamt, when thou knew'st when
Excess of joy would wake me, and cam'st then,
I must confess, it could not choose but be
Profane, to think thee anything but thee.
Coming and staying show'd thee, thee,
But rising makes me doubt, that now
Thou art not thou.
That love is weak, where fear's as strong as he;
'Tis not all spirit, pure, and brave,
If mixture it of fear, shame, honour have.
Perchance, as torches which must ready be,
Men light and put out, so thou deal'st with me;
Thou cam'st to kindle, goest to come; then I
Will dream that hope again, but else would die.
Select any word below to get its definition in the context of the poem. The words are listed in the order in which they appear in the poem.
The Poem Aloud — Listen to a reading of the poem (performed in scholars' best approximation of what Donne's 17th-century accent would have sounded like).
A Portrait of Donne — Admire a portrait of the young Donne in which he poses as the very model of a melancholy Renaissance lover.
A Short Biography — Read the Poetry Foundation's brief biography of Donne to learn more about his life and work.
Donne's Legacy — Read a review of a recent Donne biography to learn a little about how contemporary scholars approach Donne.