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The Invalid's Dream Post by :Larry_Simons Category :Poems Author :Sarah S. Mower Date :November 2011 Read :2453

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The Invalid's Dream

The sick girl sat with downcast eye,
Her bosom heaved the deep drawn sigh,
She felt that all complaint was vain,
For health would ne'er return again.

With pain and weariness oppressed,
She sought her pillow, there to rest,
While sleep a welcome visit paid,
Bright scenes were to her view displayed.

In fancy's magic glass, she sees
Her cheek, long faded by disease,
The rose of health blooms there again,
'Tis no deceitful hectic stain.

Lightly and firm her footsteps fell;
In rapture, she exclaimed, "I'm well!
I bear no suff'ring, feel no pain,
My long lost treasure I regain."

Her blooming form now stands erect,
In fair and comely robes bedecked;
Her limbs, so long with pain oppressed.
Can nimbly move or sweetly rest.

Rejoicing friends their praises sing,
To Hezekiah's bounteous king;
Well pleased, she hears their grateful songs,
And her glad voice the strain prolongs.

But sleep his downy pinions spread,
Her slumbers broke, the vision fled;
Her burning temples throbbed with pain,--
She was an invalid again.

(The end)
Sarah S. Mower's poem: Invalid's Dream

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To A Butterfly In My Chamber To A Butterfly In My Chamber

To A Butterfly In My Chamber
Whence art thou, frail, wand'ring stranger, Softly flitting round my bed? Is thy life exposed to danger? Are thy friends and kindred dead? Does the cold rude breath of autumn, Chill thy little fragile form? Hast thou come to seek a shelter From the dreaded gath'ring storm? Art thou now our friendship trying? Wouldst thou test the vows we made, When thou was so gaily flying 'Round us, 'neath the fragrant

To A Sister While Dangerously Ill To A Sister While Dangerously Ill

To A Sister While Dangerously Ill
O Sister! Sister! can it be That thou must droop, and die? Still blending on thy fair young cheek, The rose and lily vie. But burning fever is the root From whence those roses spring; While pain and suffering, on thy brow, Those snowy lilies fling.(The end)Sarah S. Mower's poem: To A Sister While Dangerously Ill