The Boy Was Lying, Fast Asleep, On A Rude Bed Upon The Floor; So Pale With Anxiety, And Sadness, And The Closeness Of His Prison, That He Looked Like Death; Not Death As It Shews In Shroud And Coffin, But In The Guise It Wears When Life Has Just Departed; When A Young And Gentle Spirit Has, But An Instant, Fled To Heaven: And The Gross Air Of The World Has Not Had Time To Breathe Upon The Changing Dust It Hallowed.
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The Boy Was Lying, Fast Asleep, On
Charles Dickens
The Boy Was Lying, Fast Asleep, On A Rude Bed Upon The Floor; So Pale With Anxiety, And Sadness, And The Closeness Of His Prison, That He Looked Like Death; Not Death As It Shews In Shroud And Coffin, But In The Guise It Wears When Life Has Just Departed; When A Young And Gentle Spirit Has, But An Instant, Fled To Heaven: And The Gross Air Of The World Has Not Had Time To Breathe Upon The Changing Dust It Hallowed.
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