Once more I lie, unrested, wan—

The hush of night grown long and drawn,

Where silence bends with heavy breath

And dreams retreat, as if in death.

My husband sleeps, entombed in snore,

A dreadful drone—a spectral bore.

And near, my hound emits a whine,

A sound so soft, yet serpentine,

It coils about my weary head

Like whispers from the unrested dead.

The rain, it taps—a ghastly drip—

As though from some decaying crypt.

Outside, the raccoon trills its song,

Unholy, wild, and far too long.

An owl replies with haunted call—

A dirge from some forsaken hall.

O! Sleep, thou temptress, cruel and coy,

Why dost thou every man employ—

Save me? Must I alone remain,

This prisoner of midnight’s bane?

The clock strikes four. I cannot flee.

This hour hath made a ghost of me.