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I.—MIDNIGHT.
I had been tossing through the restless night—
Sleep banished from my pillow—and my brain
Weary with sense of dull and stifling pain—
Yearning, and praying for the blessed light.
My lips moaned thy dear name, beloved one;
Yet I had seen thee lying still and cold,
Thy form bound only by the shroud’s pure fold,
For life with all its suffering was done.