 | Western windows and other poems |  |
154
MY NIGHTMARE.
All day my nightmare in my thought I keep:Spell-bound, it seem'd, by some magician's charm,
A giant slumber'd on my slothful arm—
His great, slow breathings jarr'd the land of sleep,
(Like far-off thunder, rumbling low and deep,)
Lifting his brawny bosom bronzed and warm—
When lo! a voice shook me with stern alarm:
“Who art thou here that dost not sow nor reap?
Behold the Sleeping Servant of thy Day—
Arouse him to thy deed: if thou but break
His slumberous spell, awake he will obey.”
I lifted up my voice and cried “Awake!”
And I awoke!—my arm, unnerved, lay dead,
A useless thing beneath my sleeping head!
My Birthday, 1863.
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