 | By The Way |  |
As one who wakens in chill morn, and sleep
Weighs soft and heavy on his eyelids yet,
And daylight vexes with its toil and pain,
Then, shutting them a moment, all as swift
Relapses down the smooth and silent slope
To that deep grotto curtained round with dreams,
As though the day were flitting fantasy
And slumber only real.
As when the fever'd brow grows cool and moist,
And the face calm, and the wild wandering thought
Sooth'd into slumber—
Weighs soft and heavy on his eyelids yet,
And daylight vexes with its toil and pain,
Then, shutting them a moment, all as swift
Relapses down the smooth and silent slope
To that deep grotto curtained round with dreams,
As though the day were flitting fantasy
And slumber only real.
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And the face calm, and the wild wandering thought
Sooth'd into slumber—
| By The Way | |