Page:Poets of John Company.djvu/80

58 Thus we suck, and gaze, and swill, Till our reddening bodies fill; Wing we then our lazy flight. Snug to roost on giddy height. Shelf, or book-case, or almirah's Top. No rest for him! our virus Quick ferments! each festering sore Seems a voice, cries 'Sleep no more! Gnats have murdered sleep (that knits up Ravelled sleeve of care!')—He sits up Startled,—scarce awake,—head bursting,— —Itching,—scratching,—smarting,—thirsting;— Curses deep, and loud, and long, Yet unsated, chaunt their song. Oh the pleasures of the plains In Bengal, and in the Rains!