In noon's heat, in a dale of Dagestan <br />With lead inside my breast, stirless I lay; <br />The deep wound still smoked on; my blood <br />Kept trickling drop by drop away. <br />On the dale's sand alone I lay. The cliffs <br />Crowded around in ledges steep, <br />And the sun scorched their tawny tops <br />And scorched me - but I slept death's sleep. <br />And in a dream I saw an evening feast <br />That in my native land with bright lights shone; <br />Among young women crowned with flowers, <br />A merry talk concerning me went on. <br />But in the merry talk not joining, <br />One of them sat there lost in thought, <br />And in a melancholy dream <br />Her young soul was immersed - God knows by what. <br />And of a dale in Dagestan she dreamt; <br />In that dale lay the corpse of one she knew; <br />Within his breast a smoking wound showed black, <br />And blood ran in a stream that colder grew.<br /><br />Mikhail Yuryevich Lermontov<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-dream-20/
