And feel thy mighty bosom heave and fall
With regular breathings; through my little world
I feel Disease advancing on his sure
And stealthy mission. Well I know his step,
The wily traitor! when I mark my short,
Quick respirations; and his call I know,
As, in the hush of night, my ear alarmed
By the heart’s death-march notes, repeats its strange
And audible beatings.
Down! grim spectre, down!