IN ILLNESS.
I sunk beneath the wave
Of sleep, not drawn as oft by visions light
And soothing as the hand of Mermaid white,
But by intolerable pangs that drave
Me downwards, plunging like a diver keen
For some unrestful pause, some blank between
The fiery chinks of anguish, dimly seen
And deeply longed for; yet I might not stir.
All day, beneath a cruel armourer,
The Hours—like weary slaves—slow, silent, pale,
Wrought link by link their iron mesh of mail
About my senses; now a brief escape
I won, but after me a wingèd shape,
Most like a wild and weird musician, threw
His hand 'mid shattered chords, and did renew
The day's slow-dying torture. It was Pain
That held me—only lengthening out its chain.
And through its glare unmitigable drew
Strange forms from out the darkness;—oh, the steep,
Rock-girdled citadel of rest to gain,
And so escape them! but I strove in vain;
For sleep hath its two Worlds! a lower deep
Of sleep, not drawn as oft by visions light
And soothing as the hand of Mermaid white,
But by intolerable pangs that drave
Me downwards, plunging like a diver keen
For some unrestful pause, some blank between
The fiery chinks of anguish, dimly seen
And deeply longed for; yet I might not stir.
All day, beneath a cruel armourer,
The Hours—like weary slaves—slow, silent, pale,
Wrought link by link their iron mesh of mail
About my senses; now a brief escape
I won, but after me a wingèd shape,
Most like a wild and weird musician, threw
His hand 'mid shattered chords, and did renew
The day's slow-dying torture. It was Pain
That held me—only lengthening out its chain.
And through its glare unmitigable drew
Strange forms from out the darkness;—oh, the steep,
Rock-girdled citadel of rest to gain,
And so escape them! but I strove in vain;
For sleep hath its two Worlds! a lower deep
