"poesía"

A DREAM BY WILLIAM BLAKE.

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-broken 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 drop'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.''