 | Western windows and other poems |  |
144
SLEEP.
The Mist crawls over the River,
Hiding the shore on either side,
And, under the veiling Mist forever,
Neither hear we nor feel we the tide.
Hiding the shore on either side,
And, under the veiling Mist forever,
Neither hear we nor feel we the tide.
But our skiff has the will of the River,
Though nothing is seen to be pass'd;
Though the Mist may hide it forever, forever
The current is drawing as fast.
Though nothing is seen to be pass'd;
Though the Mist may hide it forever, forever
The current is drawing as fast.
The matins sweet from the far-off town
Fill the air with their beautiful dream;
The vespers were hushing the twilight down
When we lost our oars on the stream.
Fill the air with their beautiful dream;
The vespers were hushing the twilight down
When we lost our oars on the stream.
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