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				Title:     The Pains of Sleep 
			    
Author: Samuel Taylor Coleridge [
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Ere on my bed my limbs I lay,
  It hath not been my use to pray
  With moving lips or bended knees;
  But silently, by slow degrees,
  My spirit I to Love compose,
  In humble trust mine eye-lids close,
  With reverential resignation,
  No wish conceived, no thought exprest,
  Only a _sense_ of supplication;
  A sense o'er all my soul imprest
  That I am weak, yet not unblest,
  Since in me, round me, everywhere
  Eternal Strength and Wisdom are.
  But yester-night I pray'd aloud
  In anguish and in agony,
  Up-starting from the fiendish crowd
  Of shapes and thoughts that tortured me:
  A lurid light, a trampling throng,
  Sense of intolerable wrong,
  And whom I scorned, those only strong!
  Thirst of revenge, the powerless will
  Still baffled, and yet burning still!
  Desire with loathing strangely mixed
  On wild or hateful objects fixed.
  Fantastic passions! maddening brawl!
  And shame and terror over all!
  Deeds to be hid which were not hid,
  Which all confused I could not know
  Whether I suffered, or I did:
  For all seem'd guilt, remorse or woe,
  My own or others still the same
  Life-stifling fear, soul-stifling shame!
  So two nights passed: the night's dismay
  Saddened and stunned the coming day.
  Sleep, the wide blessing, seemed to me
  Distemper's worst calamity.
  The third night, when my own loud scream
  Had waked me from the fiendish dream,
  O'ercome with sufferings strange and wild,
  I wept as I had been a child;
  And having thus by tears subdued
  My anguish to a milder mood,
  Such punishments, I said, were due
  To natures deepliest stained with sin:
  For aye entempesting anew
  The unfathomable hell within
  The horror of their deeds to view,
  To know and loathe, yet wish and do!
  Such griefs with such men well agree,
  But wherefore, wherefore fall on me?
  To be beloved is all I need,
  And whom I love, I love indeed.
1803.
-THE END-
Samuel Taylor Coleridge's poem: The pains of sleep
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