among the nightmare and the wistful, pleasant dream

among the nightmare and the wistful, pleasant dream

where lonely lay contented souls, asleep,

expectant eyes stick wide, intent to seem

as if the sight of life were far to deep

for wakeful thought to delve, for breath to hold.

there waits, obscured by all that daily taints

the peace so sought by timid and the bold,

what's hid in word for but the lonely saints

who seek not words so simply, plainly told.