A lover’s happy dream is broken, and he tells his beloved that only she could have made that interruption welcome. Her reality is so full of truth that simply thinking of her turns dreams into facts. Far from shattering the fantasy, her eyes (not any noise) wake him into something greater: she reads his heart and knows the exact moment his joy would have burst through sleep. He admits it felt almost profane to call her an angel, because she proved to be more intimate and knowing than any angel could be.
Then she rises to leave, and the mood darkens. Coming and staying revealed her true self; departure makes him doubt who she is now. He senses that love tangled with fear or shame cannot stay pure and courageous. The final image is shockingly intimate—she comes to kindle him like a torch only to be snuffed out again, promising a return. What lingers is the ache of someone who holds fiercely to hope, because without that dream of her coming back, he would simply die.