Poems - Michael Goodnight - Editor

Till some blind handShall brush my wing.If thought is lifeAnd strength and breathAnd the wantOf thought is death;Then am IA happy fly,If I live,Or if I die.THE ANGELI dreamt a dream! What can it mean?And that I was a maiden QueenGuarded by an Angel mild:Witless woe was ne'er beguiled!And I wept both night and day,And he wiped my tears away;