Sleep bears a priceless crown laid on the brow By gentle fingers of the silent night. Her robes are starlit dreams dropt tenderly As dawn breaks, and she flees before his light!
And while we rest there in the arms of sleep The spirit free to wander—who can say Which is the dream, and which reality? This we shall know when we awake—some day!
Sleep here becomes a queen of sorts, crowned by night with gentle, silent fingers and dressed in robes woven from starlit dreams. The first stanza paints her as something precious and quietly regal, who slips away the moment dawn arrives, as if daylight were a rival she must flee.
The second stanza turns from description to wondering. While we sleep, the speaker suggests, the spirit is free to roam, and that raises an odd question: which world is the real one, the waking life or the dream? The answer is postponed. We will only know "when we awake—some day," a phrase that hints at something beyond ordinary morning, perhaps death or another kind of awakening, though the poem never says so outright.
The mood is soft, hushed, and a little mysterious. The speaker seems calm rather than frightened, treating sleep as a gift and the big question as something to ponder gently, not to solve.