Classic Poem

At last I fell asleep, and a sweet dream,
For respite and for peace, was given to me;
But in the dawn I wakened suddenly,
And like a fiery swift and stinging stream
Returned, with fear and horror, the supreme
Remembrance of my sorrow. All my mind
Grew hot within me. As one sick and blind,
Round and still round an old and fruitless theme,
I toiled, nor saw the golden morning light,
Nor heard the sparrows singing, but the sweat
Beaded my brow and made my pillow wet.
So seared and withered as a plant with blight,
Eaten by passion, stripped of all my pride,
I wished that somehow then I might have died.