THE PRISONER’S DREAM
Sometimes in this dead stillness
Is heard a groaning deep;
The heart beats slowly, wearily,
And thought is lost in sleep.
But through the gloom your image
Shines like a magic lamp;
Like a bright beam, it drives away
The dark cell’s cold and damp.
For you is all forgotten;
I far away have flown
In dreams—and then my heart, dear love,
Is filled with you alone.
What fate has fallen to you
Of sorrow or delight?
Your path across life’s meadow,
Has it been smooth and bright?
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