The speaker lies alone at night, but imagination fills the emptiness with tender fantasy. She dreams of holding a beloved infant, feeling its helpless form depend on her alone, soothing it with a mother’s care. In this dream, she finally knows what it is to be cherished — a loving gaze meets hers, a hand presses warmly, and the long solitude seems past. These moments bring a piercing sweetness, a taste of love that reality has denied her.
But the wake is brutal. The dream shatters, and she is once again unloved and alone, facing a dreary void. The closing lines become a raw plea: why would her creator give her a heart so full of affection if only to torment her with impossible dreams? The mood shifts from tender, hopeful warmth to cold despair, leaving a sharp ache of sympathy.