That night I never thought to sleep; but a slumber fell on me as soon as I lay down in bed.
I was transported in thought to the scenes of childhood:
I dreamt I lay in the red-room at Gateshead;
that the night was dark, and my mind impressed with strange fears.
The light that long ago had struck me into syncope, recalled in this vision,
seemed glidingly to mount the wall, and tremblingly to pause in the centre of the obscured ceiling.
I lifted up my head to look: the roof resolved to clouds, high and dim;
the gleam was such as the moon imparts to vapours she is about to sever.
I watched her come -- watched with the strangest anticipation;
as though some word of doom were to be written on her disk.
She broke forth as never moon yet burst from cloud: a hand first penetrated the sable folds and waved them away;
then, not a moon, but a white human form shone in the azure, inclining a glorious brow earthward.
It gazed and gazed on me. It spoke to my spirit:
immeasurably distant was the tone, yet so near, it whispered in my heart...
"My daughter, flee temptation." "Mother, I will."