Last Night In My Feverish Dreams I Heard A Voice Like The Moan Of An Autumn Sea, Or The Low, Sad Wail Of A Widowed Bird, And It Said "My Darling, Come Home To Me." Then A Hand Was Laid On My Throbbing Head As Cold As Clay, But It Soothed My Pain: I Wakened And Knew From Among The Dead My Darling Stood By My Coach Again.