Classic Poem

As on my Bed, in Dead of Night,
With anxious Thoughts distrest,
I restless lay, and wish'd for Light,
But sigh, and turn, in vain I might,
Alas, I found no Rest!
An Icy Chilness shudder'd thro' each Vein,
And past, and present Ills, a num'rous Train,
With all their dark Idea's revell'd in my Brain.
At length the ruddy Morn appear'd,
Diffusive Beams my Spirits chear'd;
And I no more with racking Thoughts opprest,
Grew gently calm, and sunk to pleasing Rest.