 | Songs of Killarney |  |
156
SLEEPLESS.
A SONNET.
Pale Queen, that from thy bower Elysian,In slow, sweet state supremely issuing forth,
Of thy dear pity to the day-worn man,
Dispensest dreams through all the darkened earth,
Hast thou no ray of softliest-silvered span,
To tempt coy Slumber hither? O, if thou hast,
By all the love of thy Endymion,
Spare it, that I, even I, may rest at last.
Yea! that for me, sad Present, cruel Past,
Dark Future blend in blest oblivion,
Speed Slumber, Slumber to these aching eyes,
That he with wings of balmiest breath may fan
My cares to rest, confuse each haunting plan,
And steal my spirit with a sweet surprise.
| Songs of Killarney | |