His fingers wake, and flutter up the bed.
His eyes come open with a pull of will,
Helped by the yellow may-flowers by his head.
A blind-cord drawls across the window-sill . . .
How smooth the floor of the ward is! what a rug!
And who's that talking, somewhere out of sight?
This reflects his semi-conscious state, the may-flowers he can see no doubt reminding him of happier times, and therefore encouraging his effort to awaken.