 | Poems |  |
311
WAKING.
Before my senses or my soul awake,Sorrow begins to stir within my heart;
There anguish dawns before the day doth break,
Ere fluttering birds chirp faintly towards the East,
A bat-like terror flaps above my breast
With a shrill cry, that, sleeping, makes me start
And moan with unclosed lips in drear dismay,
My heavy greeting to another day.
And though perchance, through pity of the night,
I have not dreamt of misery, but have slept,
Tears stand within my eyes before the light
Smites them with its new beams—cold tears unwept,
That from their brimming fountain up have crept,
In which the morning rounds her rainbows bright.
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