I have a burning knife,
a knife deep in my heart,
the pain, it cuts so deep.
In every joy and desire,
It cuts so painfully and deeply.
Ah, why must I have this wicked guest,
never is he hushed, never will he rest.
Not by day, not by night when I sleep.
Ah, pain.
When I look into the sky,
There I can see his bluest eyes.
Ah, pain.
When in the golden feilds I roam,
There I can see his golden hair
In breezes blown
Ah, pain, Ah, pain.
When I from the dream awoke
I hear ring, his silvery laughter,
Ah pain.
I wished I lay in the darkest grave,
Never again to open my eyes.
~Unknown
a knife deep in my heart,
the pain, it cuts so deep.
In every joy and desire,
It cuts so painfully and deeply.
Ah, why must I have this wicked guest,
never is he hushed, never will he rest.
Not by day, not by night when I sleep.
Ah, pain.
When I look into the sky,
There I can see his bluest eyes.
Ah, pain.
When in the golden feilds I roam,
There I can see his golden hair
In breezes blown
Ah, pain, Ah, pain.
When I from the dream awoke
I hear ring, his silvery laughter,
Ah pain.
I wished I lay in the darkest grave,
Never again to open my eyes.
~Unknown
posted by dyingember at 10:36 PM
1 Comments:
The Pains of Sleep
Ere on my bed my limbs I lay,
It hath not been my use to pray
With moving lips or bended knees ;
But silently, by slow degrees,
My spirit I to Love compose,
In humble trust mine eye-lids close,
With reverential resignation,
No wish conceived, no thought exprest,
Only a sense of supplication ;
A sense o'er all my soul imprest
That I am weak, yet not unblest,
Since in me, round me, every where
Eternal Strength and Wisdom are.
But yester-night I prayed aloud
In anguish and in agony,
Up-starting from the fiendish crowd
Of shapes and thoughts that tortured me :
A lurid light, a trampling throng,
Sense of intolerable wrong,
And whom I scorned, those only strong !
Thirst of revenge, the powerless will
Still baffled, and yet burning still !
Desire with loathing strangely mixed
On wild or hateful objects fixed.
Fantastic passions ! maddening brawl !
And shame and terror over all !
Deeds to be hid which were not hid,
Which all confused I could not know
Whether I suffered, or I did :
For all seemed guilt, remorse or woe,
My own or others still the same
Life-stifling fear, soul-stifling shame.
So two nights passed : the night's dismay
Saddened and stunned the coming day.
Sleep, the wide blessing, seemed to me
Distemper's worst calamity.
The third night, when my own loud scream
Had waked me from the fiendish dream,
O'ercome with sufferings strange and wild,
I wept as I had been a child ;
And having thus by tears subdued
My anguish to a milder mood,
Such punishments, I said, were due
To natures deepliest stained with sin,--
For aye entempesting anew
The unfathomable hell within,
The horror of their deeds to view,
To know and loathe, yet wish and do !
Such griefs with such men well agree,
But wherefore, wherefore fall on me ?
To be beloved is all I need,
And whom I love, I love indeed.
Samuel Taylor Coleridge
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