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POEMS

BY

CURRER, ELLIS, AND ACTON

BELL.

LONDON:

SMITH, ELDER AND CO., 65, CORNHILL.

1846.

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POEMS.

PILATE'S WIFE'S DREAM.

I'VE quenched 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 sunk, 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;

B

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