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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=354009" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Fever-Dream</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">IT was a fever-dream; I lay <br>Awake, as in the broad bright day, <br>But faint and worn I drew my breath <br>Like those who wait for coming death; <br>And my hand lay helpless on my pillow <br>Weak as a reed or bending willow; <br>And the night-lamp, with its shadowy veil, <br>And its light so sickly, faint, and pale, <br>Gleamed mournfully on objects round; <br>And the clock's stroke was the only sound; <br>Measuring the hours of silent time <br>With a heavy and unwelcome chime, <br>As still monotonously true <br>To its pulse-like beat, the minutes flew. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">I was alone, but not asleep; <br>Too weary, and too wetk to weep. <br>My eyes had closed in sadness there; <br>And they who watched o'er my despair <br>Had placed that dim light in the room, <br>And deepened the surrounding gloom, <br>By curtaining out the few sad rays <br>Which made things present to my gaze; <br>And all because they vainly thought <br>At last the night its rest had brought,-- <br>Alas! rest came no more to me <br>So heavy was my misery! </div><div style="margin:10px 0">They left me, and my heart was filled <br>With wandering dreams, whose fancies thrilled <br>Painfully through my feeble brain, <br>Till I almost wished them back again. <br>Yet wherefore should I bid them stay? <br>They could not chase those dreams away, <br>But only watch me as I lay. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">They left me, and the midnight stroke <br>From the old clock the silence broke; <br>And with a wild repining sigh <br>I wished it were my time to die! <br>And then, with spirit all dismayed, <br>For that wild wish, forgiveness prayed, <br>Humbling myself to God's high power <br>To bear His will, and wait His hour. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">And while I darkly rested there, <br>The breath of a young child's floating hair, <br>Perfumed, and warm, and glistening bright, <br>Swept past me in the shrouding night;-- <br>And the footsteps of children, light and quick, <br>(While my heart beat loud, and my breath came thick) <br>Went to and fro on the silent floor;-- <br>And the lock was turned in the fastened door, <br>As a child may turn it, who tiptoe stands <br>With his fair round arms and his dimpled hands, <br>Putting out all their strength in vain <br>Admittance by his own means to gain: <br>Till his sweet impatient voice is heard <br>Like the chirp of a young imprisoned bird, <br>Seeking an entrance still to win <br>By fond petitions to those within. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">A child's soft shadowy hair, bright smiles, <br>His merry laugh, and coaxing wiles, <br>These are sweet things,--most precious things,-- <br>But in spite of my brain's wild wanderings, <br>I knew that they dwelt in my fancy only, <br>And that I was sad, and left, and lonely; <br>And the fear of a dreadful madness came <br>And withered my soul like a parching flame; <br>And I felt the strong delirium growing, <br>And the thread of my feeble senses going, <br>And I heard with a horror all untold <br>Which turned my hot blood icy-cold, <br>Those light steps draw more near my bed; <br>And by visions I was visited, <br>Of the gentle eyes which I might not see, <br>And the faces that were so far from me! </div><div style="margin:10px 0">And blest, oh I blest was the morning beam <br>Which woke me up from my fever-dream!</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Caroline+Elizabeth+Sarah+Norton">Caroline Elizabeth Sarah Norton</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=354009" data-title="The Fever-Dream de Caroline Elizabeth Sarah Norton" data-description="IT was a fever-dream; I lay 
Awake, as in the broad bright day, 
But faint and worn I drew my breath 
Like those who wait for coming death; 
And my hand lay helpless on my pillow 
Weak as a reed or bending willow; 
And the night-lamp, with its sha..."></div>
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