Verse > Anthologies > Andrew Macphail, ed. > The Book of Sorrow
Andrew Macphail, comp.  The Book of Sorrow.  1916.
XXXII. Visions
By Caroline Elizabeth Sarah (Sheridan) Norton (1808–1877)
SURELY I heard a voice—surely my name
Was breathed in tones familiar to my heart!
I listened—and the low wind stealing came,
In darkness and in silence to depart.
Surely I saw a form, a proud bright form,        5
Standing beside my couch! I raised mine eyes:
’Twas but a dim cloud, herald of a storm,
That floated through the grey and twilight skies.
Surely the brightness of the summer hour
Hath suddenly burst upon the circling gloom!        10
I dream; ’twas but the perfume of a flower,
Which the breeze wafted through the silent room.
Surely a hand clasped mine with greetings fond!
A name is murmured by my lips with pain;
Woe for that sound—woe for love’s broken bond.        15
I start—I wake—I am alone again!

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