Xliv

"Borne to a hospital, I lay with brain Drowsy and weak, and shattered memory; I heard my neighbours in their beds complain Of many things which never troubled me-- Of feet still bustling round with busy glee, Of looks where common kindness had no part, Of service done with cold formality, Fretting the fever round the languid heart, And groans which, as they said, might make a dead man start.