 | The poetical works of Samuel Rogers |  |
WRITTEN IN A SICK CHAMBER.
1793.
There, in that bed so closely curtained round,
Worn to a shade and wan with slow decay,
A father sleeps! Oh hushed be every sound!
Soft may we breathe the midnight hours away!
Worn to a shade and wan with slow decay,
A father sleeps! Oh hushed be every sound!
Soft may we breathe the midnight hours away!
He stirs—yet still he sleeps. May heavenly dreams
Long o'er his smooth and settled pillow rise;
Nor fly, till morning through the shutter streams,
And on the hearth the glimmering rush-light dies.
Long o'er his smooth and settled pillow rise;
Nor fly, till morning through the shutter streams,
And on the hearth the glimmering rush-light dies.
| The poetical works of Samuel Rogers | |