THE DREAM OF THE SICK.
But for me, O thou picture-land of sleep!
Thou art all one world of affections deep.
Mrs. Hemans.
In the dim twilight of my darkened room,
When worn and wasted by long suffering,
I lay, and thought upon the past. No bloom
To my wan face could even mem’ry bring;
For fever’s fiery thirst had drunk my blood,
And stolen from my cheek the vital flood.