 | The Collected Poems of T. E. Brown |  |
54
PORTBURY
Yes, you are weary, and it is most right—
This is a blessed light
Wherein you ask to sleep:
How soft it falls! How delicately creep
The perfumed airs upon your breast!
Sleep on! sleep on! rest! rest!
This is a blessed light
Wherein you ask to sleep:
How soft it falls! How delicately creep
The perfumed airs upon your breast!
Sleep on! sleep on! rest! rest!
Ah, it was glorious fun up there,
You little devil-may-care!
Such flowers to kiss, such pebbles to chide,
Such crabbed old carls of roots to deride,
Flouting them with your saucy riot!
Yes, yes! But now be quiet!
You little devil-may-care!
Such flowers to kiss, such pebbles to chide,
Such crabbed old carls of roots to deride,
Flouting them with your saucy riot!
Yes, yes! But now be quiet!
For after all the stones were rough,
And you've had fun enough.
See! it is O, so peaceful here!
Ah! feel this lily—is it not most dear?
Coax it with curling of your liquid limbs!
And, as it delicately swims,
Let nothing but its shadow cumber
The lightness of your slumber!
And you've had fun enough.
See! it is O, so peaceful here!
Ah! feel this lily—is it not most dear?
Coax it with curling of your liquid limbs!
And, as it delicately swims,
Let nothing but its shadow cumber
The lightness of your slumber!
The great sea calls—be still!
And fear not any ill!
For all the Loves will pet you,
Nor kindly Jove forget you,
When those bold Tritons with the rush
Of many arms seize you and make you blush!—
Ah, hush! hush! hush!
And fear not any ill!
For all the Loves will pet you,
Nor kindly Jove forget you,
When those bold Tritons with the rush
Of many arms seize you and make you blush!—
Ah, hush! hush! hush!
| The Collected Poems of T. E. Brown | |