ROOSEVELT, MIDNIGHT, APRIL 8th, 1839
I sit within the long dim ward at night;
Around me silent beds or snores or groans, —
Ah! List that prayer with anguish In its tones :
” O God, God, God How soon will it be light!”
” Kape sthill I An’ let us shlape. Oi think yees moightl”
A boy asleep, who smiles, (with broken bones)
Dreaming of mother or some playground sight.
Without, thick darkness and a wind that moans.
A rattling breath, a gasp, a still, white stare,
A nurse’s jest: ” Discharged — tie up the jaw,
A label on the wrist to save mistakes.”
The tramp of dead-house men of heedless air.
Two lines of lifted faces full of awe —
A sickened sot, that cot tomorrow shakes.
By: J. William Lloyd
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