 | The Complete Poetical Works of Robert Buchanan |  |
SERENADES.
I.
Sleep on thine eyes, peace in thy breast,
White-limb'd lady, be at rest!
Near the room wherein you lie,
Broods the owl with luminous eye.
White-limb'd lady, be at rest!
Near the room wherein you lie,
Broods the owl with luminous eye.
Midnight comes; all fair things sleep,
While all dark things vigil keep;
Round thy bed thy scented bower
Foldeth like a lily-flower.
While all dark things vigil keep;
Round thy bed thy scented bower
Foldeth like a lily-flower.
All so still around thee lies,
Peace in thy breast, sleep on thine eyes!
All without is dark as death,
But thy lover wakeneth.
Peace in thy breast, sleep on thine eyes!
All without is dark as death,
But thy lover wakeneth.
Underneath thy bower I pace,
Star-dew sparkling on my face;
All around me, swift of flight,
Move the creatures of the night.
Star-dew sparkling on my face;
All around me, swift of flight,
Move the creatures of the night.
Hark, the great owl cries again
With an echo in the brain;
And the dark earth in her sleep
Stirs and trembles, breathing deep.
With an echo in the brain;
And the dark earth in her sleep
Stirs and trembles, breathing deep.
Sleep on thine eyes, peace in thy breast!
Fold thy hands and take thy rest;
All the night, till morning break,
Spirits walk and lovers wake!
Fold thy hands and take thy rest;
All the night, till morning break,
Spirits walk and lovers wake!
II.
Sleep sweet, belovëd one, sleep sweet!
Without here night is growing,
The dead leaf falls, the dark boughs meet,
And a chill wind is blowing.
Strange shapes are stirring in the night,
To the deep breezes wailing,
And slow, with wistful gleams of light,
The storm-tost moon is sailing.
Without here night is growing,
The dead leaf falls, the dark boughs meet,
And a chill wind is blowing.
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To the deep breezes wailing,
And slow, with wistful gleams of light,
The storm-tost moon is sailing.
Sleep sweet, belovëd one, sleep sweet!
Fold thy white hands, my blossom!
Thy warm limbs in thy lily sheet,
Thy hands upon thy bosom.
Though evil thoughts may walk the dark,
Not one shall near thy chamber;
But shapes divine shall pause to mark,
Singing to lutes of amber.
Fold thy white hands, my blossom!
Thy warm limbs in thy lily sheet,
Thy hands upon thy bosom.
Though evil thoughts may walk the dark,
Not one shall near thy chamber;
But shapes divine shall pause to mark,
Singing to lutes of amber.
Sleep sweet, belovëd one, sleep sweet!
Though, on thy bosom creeping,
Strange hands are laid, to feel the beat
Of thy soft heart in sleeping.
The brother angels, Sleep and Death,
Stoop by thy couch and eye thee;
And Sleep stoops down to drink thy breath,
While Death goes softly by thee!
Though, on thy bosom creeping,
Strange hands are laid, to feel the beat
Of thy soft heart in sleeping.
The brother angels, Sleep and Death,
Stoop by thy couch and eye thee;
And Sleep stoops down to drink thy breath,
While Death goes softly by thee!
| The Complete Poetical Works of Robert Buchanan | |