To a Lady, LXXX

I knew it all: but there I lay, My eyes were op’d—I could not stir! I felt as some tir’d pilgrim may, That hath been years a traveller! A breeze was through my casement blowing, And oh I heard the warblers sing; And rarest plants their scents were throwing, And every breath was full of Spring And I was waking up from death, As one who hath been drown’d; Oh, how my spirit shuddereth To tell ye of that swound! I could not thank the Lord enow, That it was all a dream; The sweat was cold upon my brow, And ’twas a blessed stream; I felt the sweet life-giving air, In every tangle of my hair, But could not stir—for there was I, In more than rapture’s reverie. And was I yet in this green world, Was yet my spirit here! Was I safe home, that had been hurl’d Out o’er the farthest sphere! Oh—had I time to strive for Heaven! Or, was I dreaming still! Would God this riddle’s end were given! I said—and like a thrill, Over the hills, and over the dells, I heard your music, bells, sweet bells!