There is a breath at midnight that comes in <br />Sad as a sigh, for then the day is dead <br />And the young morrow doth his course begin, <br />Sowing new dreams in many a dreamer's head. <br />And there are two have waked in one dark bed <br />Just as the last stroke fades in lonely air, <br />And having whispered, half-awake, have sped <br />With silent feet into sleep's poppied lair. <br />She with the morning wakes, but he is gone; <br />Her tears and kisses are of no avail- <br />Perchance it was his good-bye murmured on <br />The midnight in death's visionary dale. <br />Ah, woe! she thought 'twas in sleep's fairyland <br />When in the dark he pressed her warm, soft hand.<br /><br />Robert Crawford<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/dream-death-3/
