Treasure Island

Caroline Elizabeth Sarah Norton

(22 March 1808 – 15 June 1877 / London)

Dreams


SURELY I heard a voice-surely my name
Was breathed in tones familiar to my heart!
I listened-and the low wind stealing came,
In darkness and in silence to depart.

Surely I saw a form, a proud bright form,
Standing beside my couch! I raised mine eyes:
'Twas but a dim cloud, herald of a storm,
That floated through the grey and twilight skies.

Surely the brightness of the summer hour
Hath suddenly burst upon the circling gloom!
I dream; 'twas but the perfume of a flower,
Which the breeze wafted through the silent room.

Surely a hand clasped mine with greetings fond!
A name is murmured by my lips with pain;
Woe for that sound-woe for love's broken bond.
I start-I wake-I am alone again!

Submitted: Thursday, April 15, 2010

Do you like this poem?
0 person liked.
0 person did not like.

Read this poem in other languages

This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.

I would like to translate this poem »

word flags

What do you think this poem is about?

Comments about this poem (Dreams by Caroline Elizabeth Sarah Norton )

Enter the verification code :

There is no comment submitted by members..

Top Poems

  1. Phenomenal Woman
    Maya Angelou
  2. The Road Not Taken
    Robert Frost
  3. If You Forget Me
    Pablo Neruda
  4. Still I Rise
    Maya Angelou
  5. Dreams
    Langston Hughes
  6. Annabel Lee
    Edgar Allan Poe
  7. If
    Rudyard Kipling
  8. Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
    Robert Frost
  9. I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings
    Maya Angelou
  10. Invictus
    William Ernest Henley

PoemHunter.com Updates

New Poems

  1. Around the eyes, DEEPAK KUMAR PATTANAYAK
  2. A Lovely Child, Akhtar Jawad
  3. Courtny Stoned, shelly keats
  4. Politically right, Hardik Vaidya
  5. Pussy cat, gajanan mishra
  6. Geweldskoorts, Madrason writer
  7. Sine Curve, Hardik Vaidya
  8. Alone in the Winepress, Terrance Tracy
  9. I Am Human, Marites C. Cayetano
  10. Is Isolation, Rohit Sapra

Poem of the Day

poet Henry David Thoreau

My books I'd fain cast off, I cannot read,
'Twixt every page my thoughts go stray at large
Down in the meadow, where is richer feed,
And will not mind to hit their proper targe.
...... Read complete »

   
[Hata Bildir]