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 | The Poetical Works of Aubrey De Vere |  |
XVII. SICK DREAMS ALL.
WRITTEN IN SICKNESS.
The spirit worn with sickness walks thro' valesOf shadowy meaning, elbowed by a flow
And ceaseless throng of ghastly forms, that show
Some fleeting token, which, tho' light, assails
The memory, and rends aside its veils;
Or through some ebon vault, set deep below,
With outstretched hands and stumbling step and slow,
The sick man's fancy wanders; or he sails
Upon a smooth broad sea; some unseen hand
Directs the helm and gives a steady run;
His languid eye perceives no distant land;
He knows not of his journey; if begun
But now, or ending, cannot understand;
But sails toward a drooping blood-red sun.
April 1861.
| The Poetical Works of Aubrey De Vere | |