Abou Ben Adhem (may his tribe increase!) Awoke one night from a deep dream of peace, And saw, within the moonlight of his room, Making it rich, and like a lily in bloom, An angel writing in a book of gold:-...
Cold blows the wind, and while the tear Bursts trembling from my swollen eyes, The rain's big drop, quick meets it there, And on my naked bosom flies!...
It lies before me there, and my own breath Stirs its thin outer threads, as though beside The living head I stood in honoured pride, Talking of lovely things that conquer death....