A Dream

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Once a dream did weave a shade
O’er my Angel-guarded bed,
That an emmet lost its way
Where on grass methought I lay.

Troubled, ’wilder’d, and forlorn,      
Dark, benighted, travel-worn,
Over many a tangled spray,
All heart-broke I heard her say:

‘O, my children! do they cry?
Do they hear their father sigh?      
Now they look abroad to see:
Now return and weep for me.’

Pitying, I dropp’d a tear;
But I saw a glow-worm near,
Who replied: ‘What wailing wight      
Calls the watchman of the night?

‘I am set to light the ground,
While the beetle goes his round:
Follow now the beetle’s hum;
Little wanderer, hie thee home.

William Blake (1757–1827).

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