Throughout the night distressed, unblessed by sleep,
I turn and writhe and toss, and vainly watch
The seconds and the minutes slowly stretch
To hours; and long since done with counting sheep,
Despair of morning. All alone I pitch
And sweat and wanly see the clock-hands sweep
Inexorably on. And so I keep
Unwilling vigil, condemned to spend such
Nights of...
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