[The Night-Mare Death in Life]

8



I know 'tis but a dream, yet feel more anguish

Than if 'twere truth. It has been often so:

Must I die under it? Is no one near?

Will no one hear these stifled groans and wake me?





9



Bright clouds of reverence, sufferably bright,

That intercept the dazzle, not the Light;

That veil the finite form, the boundless power reveal,

Itself an earthly sun of pure intensest white.