Poems and Essays By the late William Caldwell Roscoe. (Edited with a Prefatory Memoir, by his Brother-in-law, Richard Holt Hutton) |
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78
AT NIGHT.
When Peace and all the calm DivinitiesWalk in the unjarred wide concave of heaven,
And by self-exile from the sweet skies driven,
The ever youngest-born of Charities
Dispensed by God, soft-breathing silent Sleep,
O'er the wide world, from tower to hamlet flies,
And lays her hand on overwearied eyes,
But most through children's curtains loves to peep,—
I wake. Then I behold the sailing moon
And solemn image of the shadowed woods,
And check my doubts, and learn I may as soon
Dream that for me this beauty ever broods,
As that the highest clad in mortal dress,
Beloved and lost, was made to make my happiness.
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