The horrors that invade thy dreams,
The shadowland of forms, that seems
Dark terror to the soul it fills?
Why weary of the onward way,
Or dread the roughness of the road?
Why fear to struggle ’gainst the load,
The heavy burthen of life’s clay?
Hast thou not seen?—when gone the night
And stilled the dropping of the shower,
The weary drooping wayside flower