In Hospital. 
By Flecker, James Elroy. 


Would I might lie like this, without the pain,
For seven years -as one with snowy hair,
Who in the high tower dreams his dying reign - 

Lie here and watch the walls -how grey and bare,
The metal bed-post, the uncoloured screen,
The mat, the jug, the cupboard, and the chair;

And served by an old woman, calm and clean,
Her misted face familiar, yet unknown,
Who comes in silence, and departs unseen,

And with no other visit, lie alone,
Nor stir, except I had my food to find
In that dull bowl Diogenes might own.

And down my window I would draw the blind,
And never look without, but, waiting, hear
A noise of rain, a whistling of the wind,

And only know that flame-foot Spring is near
By trilling birds, or by the patch of sun
Crouching behind my curtains. So, in fear,

Noon-dreams should enter, softly, one by one,
And throng about the floor, and float and play
And flicker on the screen, while minutes run - 

The last majestic minutes of the day - 
And with the mystic shadows, Shadow grow.
Then the grey square of wall should fade away,

And glow again, and open, and disclose
The shimmering lake in which the planets swim,
And all that lake a dewdrop on a rose.