 | Plays and poems |  |
390
[II. The world seems strangely altered to me, friend]
The world seems strangely altered to me, friend,Since last I pressed my ready hand in thine.
I feel like one awakening after wine—
For many yesterdays have had an end
Since we two met—and drowsy tremors send
A thrill of shame across this heart of mine,
That I my better feelings could confine
In easy opiates, make my spirit bend
To slothful rest,—a drunkard, and no more!
Yet I will rouse me from this lethargy.
The past is past; the dreaming night is o'er;
Heaven's lamp comes beaming from the East on me,
Touching my eyelids to reality,
And all is sunshine that was dark before.
| Plays and poems | |