 | At the holy well |  |
101
NIGHT THOUGHTS.
They come, in long procession rise beforeMy wakeful sight, sweet thoughts, Beloved, of thee
And of thy love, the dearest dream to me
That ever grew dear truth for evermore;
For, as to a child, in his hushed bed—the door
Half open where his mother's light may be
A comfort to his lonely sense when he,
Though waking, feels warm slumber reach the core
Of his fresh spirit—who drops his lids at last,
Visiting Fairyland, while numberless
Lithe shadows pass and shapes created fast,
Charming him till he sleeps and are his dream,
So, while I breathe in tender wakefulness,
Sleep-bordering thoughts with blissful visions teem.
| At the holy well | |