 | Poems |  |
50
CRAZED.
No rest! no rest on this bleak earth for me;
A thousand fancies flit across my brain;
Dim phantoms of the shadowy past I see—
I know, oh God! I know I am insane.
A thousand fancies flit across my brain;
Dim phantoms of the shadowy past I see—
I know, oh God! I know I am insane.
Deep in my breast the secret I will hide—
To those who love me 'twould give bitter pain:
Foes would rejoice should evil ere betide,
And 'tis an awful curse to be insane.
To those who love me 'twould give bitter pain:
Foes would rejoice should evil ere betide,
And 'tis an awful curse to be insane.
Ho! ho! a light! I say, my wife, a light!
This heavy darkness crushes my poor heart;
And, darling, sit beside my bed to-night—
Thy kind words comfort to my soul impart.
This heavy darkness crushes my poor heart;
And, darling, sit beside my bed to-night—
Thy kind words comfort to my soul impart.
51
Ah, do not start, when my deep groans you hear:
I stagger, struck with agony so fell;
See there! see there! 'tis gone; you need not fear;
You cannot see the Devil's mystic spell.
I stagger, struck with agony so fell;
See there! see there! 'tis gone; you need not fear;
You cannot see the Devil's mystic spell.
I hear a footstep! Halt! I say, who's there?
The wind, you answer; ah, I'm not insane!
You can't deceive me with your words so fair—
There! there! I hear the sound approach again.
The wind, you answer; ah, I'm not insane!
You can't deceive me with your words so fair—
There! there! I hear the sound approach again.
The light! I say! I tell you I will see—
It is a thief, with murderous thought intent;
You can't prevent me—but, ah, woe is me!
Are you, too, on some hidden mischief bent?
It is a thief, with murderous thought intent;
You can't prevent me—but, ah, woe is me!
Are you, too, on some hidden mischief bent?
Forgive me, darling; I did wildly rave;
I think I am a little crazed to-night.
Stay with me, pet-wife, you are good and brave;
The spell will pass with morning's dawning bright.
I think I am a little crazed to-night.
Stay with me, pet-wife, you are good and brave;
The spell will pass with morning's dawning bright.
52
Press your soft hand upon my aching head—
Weeping again? Why will you always weep?
Your eyes their brightness with the tears will shed:
There, good night, darling! now, I fain would sleep.
Weeping again? Why will you always weep?
Your eyes their brightness with the tears will shed:
There, good night, darling! now, I fain would sleep.
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