From the obelisk lonesome of my pillow. When my slumber has fallen so deep, the dreams that play upon my subconscious seem to weep. Where dost I lay my head upon but a remorse like stone, that I have long called my home? In the very augmentation of my woe, I seek the one flame that lights my soul. Ye, who I do thinkth of so little; and yet I let my heart hang so brittle. Friend, Sweet friend, If thus my dreams be so sorrow stained before the gleams of morrow pain. How sweetly the dreams do come, when oft my pillow be your chest. Twas in thy vigorous affection, that I ne\'er stumble among thy crest. When the world does so entwine, it is your heart that does so shine. If the sun does fall, in the hour it should fade, and the night encompasses it\'s shade, I wonder; Where may I find sweet slumber, but in the singing charms when I\'m emblazoned by your arms. I speak not in tongues of jest, that I need not to ponder; sweetly comes thy slumber when I\'m asleep in your arms.