Ah! while I lie soothing my soul with this dream,
The terror of waking comes back to my heart;
Why is it not as I thus make it seem?
Must I come back to the world, ere we part?
Deep was the swoon of my spirit—why break it?
Why bring me back to the struggles that shake it?
Alas, there is room on my feet for fresh bruises—
The flowers are not dead on my brow or my breast—
When shall I learn "sweet adversity's uses,"
And my tantalized spirit be truly at rest!