Explore "Bereft, she Thinks she Dreams" by Thomas Hardy on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
I DREAM that the dearest I ever knew / Has died and been entombed. / I am sure it's a dream that cannot be true, / But I am so overgloomed / By its persistence, that I would gladly / Have quick death take me, / Rather than longer think thus sadly; / So wake me, wake me!
It has lasted days, but minute and hour / I expect to get aroused / And find him as usual in the bower / Where we so happily housed. / Yet stays this nightmare too appalling, / And like a web shakes me, / And piteously I keep on calling, / And no one wakes me!