Palsied and fevered and blind, Driven by madnesses strange, Aching and loathing it all, In our planetary hospital, Day and night we cry for a change. And the wind-tossed woods and the wild Waters that wash our shores, Unappeased, unreconciled, Cry also without a pause. And sometimes, between the souls Of our desperate mad-house men In the hospital of the world And these, there strangely rolls A tremor of mutual rage; And a mutual curse is hurled At the forehead of God; and then Silence. And, in the silence, a breath -- Not of man, nor of God, nor of these, Nor of birth, nor of life, nor of death, Nor of madness, nor yet disease, -- A strange weird voice from the deep That opens below all depth; -- "Lo! such are the dreams of sleep. Ye will wake one day!" it saith. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TO MY MYRTLE [MIRTLE] by WILLIAM BLAKE WHEN DEY 'LISTED COLORED SOLDIERS by PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR HOME THOUGHTS FROM EUROPE by HENRY VAN DYKE FANCIES AT NAVESINK: 6 by WALT WHITMAN MOTHER HEART by NELLIE COOLEY ALDER VERSES, RESPECTFULLY & AFFECTIONALLY INSCRIBED TO PROFESSIONAL FRIEND by BERNARD BARTON A LUNCHEON (THOMAS HARDY ENTERTAINS THE PRINCE OF WALES) by HENRY MAXIMILIAN BEERBOHM IN VINCULIS; SONNETS WRITTEN IN AN IRISH PRISON: A CONVENT WITHOUT GOD by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT |