Alfred H. Miles, ed. The Sacred Poets of the Nineteenth Century. 1907.
By Sonnets. IV. Memory of a Dear FriendJames Drummond Burns (18231864)
M
It winds into the secret of my dreams,
And shapes their shadowy pomp. When fancy seems
To charm my fevered spirit into deep
Forgetfulness, the restless thought will creep
From its dim ambush, startling that repose,
And glooms and spectral terrors round me close,
Like iron walls I may not overleap.
And then I seem to see thy face again,
But not, belovèd! as thou wert and art,
And, with thy sweet voice tingling in my brain,
From this great agony of fear I start,
To feel the slow throb of habitual pain,
And undulled anguish grasping at my heart.