Yester-eve, when all things slept—
Scarce a breeze to stir the lane—
I a restless vigil kept,
Nor from pillows sleep could gain,
Nor from poppies nor—most sure
Of opiates—a conscience pure.
Thoughts of rest I 'gan forswear,
Rose and walked along the strand.
Found, in warm and moonlit air,
Man and boat upon the sand,
Drowsy both, and drowsily
Did the boat put out to sea.
Passed an hour or two perchance,
Or a year? then thought and sense
Vanished in the engulfing trance
Of a vast Indifference.
Fathomless, abysses dread
Opened—then the vision fled.
Morning came: becalmed, the boat
Rested on the purple flood:
"What had happened?" every throat
Shrieked the question: "was there—Blood?"
Naught had happened! On the swell
We had slumbered, oh, so well!
This work is a translation and has a separate copyright status to the applicable copyright protections of the original content.| Original: |
This work was published before January 1, 1927, and is in the public domain worldwide because the author died at least 100 years ago. |
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| Translation: |
This work is in the public domain in the United States because it was published before January 1, 1927. It may be copyrighted outside the U.S. (see Help:Public domain). 
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