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Shivering in fever, weak, and parched to sand, My ears, those entrances of word-dressed thoughts, My pictured eyes, and my assuring touch, Fell from … - Thomas Lovell Beddoes
" "Shivering in fever, weak, and parched to sand,
My ears, those entrances of word-dressed thoughts,
My pictured eyes, and my assuring touch,
Fell from me, and my body turned me forth
From its beloved abode: then I was dead;
And in my grave beside my corpse I sat,
In vain attempting to return: meantime
There came the untimely spectres of two babes,
And played in my abandoned body’s ruins;
They went away; and, one by one, by snakes
My limbs were swallowed; and, at last, I sat
With only one, blue-eyed, curled round my ribs,
Eating the last remainder of my heart,
And hissing to himself. O sleep, thou fiend!
Thou blackness of the night! how sad and frightful
Are these thy dreams!
English
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About Thomas Lovell Beddoes
Thomas Lovell Beddoes (June 30, 1803 – January 26, 1849) was an English poet and dramatist.
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Additional quotes by Thomas Lovell Beddoes
If there were dreams to sell, What would you buy?
Some cost a passing bell; Some a light sigh,
That shakes from Life’s fresh crown
Only a rose-leaf down.
If there were dreams to sell,
Merry and sad to tell,
And the crier rang the bell, What would you buy?A cottage lone and still, With bowers nigh,
Shadowy, my woes to still, Until I die.
Such pearl from Life’s fresh crown
Fain would I shake me down.
Were dreams to have at will,
This would best heal my ill, This would I buy.
How many times do I love thee, dear? Tell me how many thoughts there be In the atmosphere Of a new-fall’n year,
Whose white and sable hours appear The latest flake of Eternity:
So many times do I love thee, dear.How many times do I love again? Tell me how many beads there are In a silver chain Of evening rain,
Unravell’d from the tumbling main, And threading the eye of a yellow star:
So many times do I love again.
If thou wilt ease thine heart
Of love and all its smart, Then sleep, dear, sleep;
And not a sorrow Hang any tear on your eyelashes; Lie still and deep, Sad soul, until the sea-wave washes
The rim o’ the sun to-morrow, In eastern sky.But wilt thou cure thine heart
Of love and all its smart, Then die, dear, die;
’Tis deeper, sweeter, Than on a rose-bank to lie dreaming With folded eye; And there alone, amid the beaming
Of Love’s stars, thou’lt meet her In eastern sky.
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