As steals o’er the muscles the prickly sleep:
And death came on me: my breath but press’d
In a struggling gasp, from half my breast;
And a falling, falling, falling feeling,
And dark oblivion o’er me stealing,
And a hand that press’d me down, below
The deepest depth of some ocean’s flow,
And a struggle long, and a struggle dread,
And a frantic wrench to raise my head,
And a throttled gasp, and a quenching breath,