Another restless night has passed, and all
That makes night welcome to the wearied soul
The blessed boon of dark forgetfulness,
Sleep, the sweet parent of a world of dreams
Where pleasure reigns supreme-these all are fled,
And thro' the slow, sad hours, my fevered eyes
Stare, in mute anguish, at the cold blank wall,
Cold as my heart, blank as my aimless life,
Now all is gone that made it worth the living.
Oh, it is terrible when darkest night,
Succeeding to a day of gloomy thoughts,
Brings not the solace that should ease the soul
Of all its weary weight of wretchedness,
But rather magnifies a thousandfold
Those warring elements, and makes the night
The dreary echo of a cheerless day!