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STANZAS.
Dark thoughts pursue me even in sleep,
And bitter tears mine eyelids steep;
Yet, through the silence, gently borne,
I hear sweet whispers of the morn—
    For the birds sing through my dreams.

I struggle with the nightmare spell,
And 'gainst the fevered weight rebel;
I strive to gaze upon the light
Which pierces through my shadowy night,
    From morning's blessed gleams!

Dazzled, confused by fear and doubt,
I seek to reach the world without;
If I could wake, I there might see,
The darkness o'er, that I was free—
    That day had dawned at last;