Thomas Hardy — The dream is - which?

I am laughing by the brook with her,        &nbsp Splashed in its tumbling stir; And then it is a blankness looms        &nbsp As if I walked not there, Nor she, but found me in haggard rooms,        &nbsp And treading a lonely stair. With radiant cheeks and rapid eyes        &nbsp We sit where none espies; Till a harsh change comes edging in        &nbsp As no such scene were there, But winter, and I were bent and thin,        &nbsp And cinder-gray my hair. We dance in heys around the hall,        &nbsp Weightless as thistleball; And then a curtain drops between,        &nbsp As if I danced not there, But wandered through a mounded green        &nbsp To find her, I knew where.