The Pains Of Sleep

Ere on my bed my limbs I lay,

It hath not been my use to

With moving lips or bended knees;

But silently, by slow degrees,

My spirit I to Love compose,

In humble trust mine eye-lids close,

With reverential resignation,

No wish conceived, no thought exprest,

Only a sense of supplication;

A sense o'er all my soul

That I am weak, yet not unblest,

Since in me, round me, every

Eternal Strength and Wisdom are.

But yester-night I prayed

In anguish and in agony,

Up-starting from the fiendish

Of shapes and thoughts that tortured me:

A lurid light, a trampling throng,

Sense of intolerable wrong,

And whom I scorned, those only strong!

Thirst of revenge, the powerless

Still baffled, and yet burning still!

Desire with loathing strangely

On wild or hateful objects fixed.

Fantastic passions ! maddening brawl!

And shame and terror over all!

Deeds to be hid which were not hid,

Which all confused I could not

Whether I suffered, or I did:

For all seemed guilt, remorse or woe,

My own or others still the

Life-stifling fear, soul-stifling shame.

So two nights passed: the night's

Saddened and stunned the coming day.

Sleep, the wide blessing, seemed to

Distemper's worst calamity.

The third night, when my own loud

Had waked me from the fiendish dream,

O'ercome with sufferings strange and wild,

I wept as I had been a child;

And having thus by tears

My anguish to a milder mood,

Such punishments,

I said, were

To natures deepliest stained with sin,—For aye entempesting

The unfathomable hell within,

The horror of their deeds to view,

To know and loathe, yet wish and do!

Such griefs with such men well agree,

But wherefore, wherefore fall on me?

To be beloved is all I need,

And whom I love,

I love indeed.