Page:Poets of John Company.djvu/80

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Thus we suck, and gaze, and swill,
Till our reddening bodies fill;
Wing we then our lazy flight.
Snug to roost on giddy height.
Shelf, or book-case, or almirah's
Top. No rest for him! our virus
Quick ferments! each festering sore
Seems a voice, cries 'Sleep no more!
Gnats have murdered sleep (that knits up
Ravelled sleeve of care!')—He sits up
Startled,—scarce awake,—head bursting,—
Curses deep, and loud, and long,
Yet unsated, chaunt their song.
Oh the pleasures of the plains
In Bengal, and in the Rains!