POEMS BY CURRER BELL,
PILATE\'S WIFE\'S DREAM.
I\'ve quench\'d my lamp, I struck it in that start Which every limb
convulsed, I heard it fall-- The crash blent with my sleep, I saw depart Its
light, even as I woke, on yonder wall; Over against my bed, there shone a
gleam Strange, faint, and mingling also with my dream.
It sank, and I am wrapt in utter gloom; How far is night advanced, and
when will day Retinge the dusk and livid air with bloom, And fill this void
with warm, creative ray? Would I could sleep again till, clear and red,
Morning shall on the mountain-tops be spread!
I\'d call my women, but to break their sleep, Because my own is broken,
were unjust; They\'ve wrought all day, and well-earn\'d slumbers steep
Their labours in forgetfulness, I trust; Let me my feverish watch with
patience bear, Thankful that none with me its sufferings share.