 | The Poetical Works of Aubrey De Vere |  |
XV.
Silence and Sleep, and Midnight's softest gloom!Consoling friends of fast deelining years;
Benign assuagers of unfruitful tears;
Soft-footed heralds of the wished-for tomb!
Go to your master Death, the Monarch whom
Ye serve; whose majesty your grace endears;
And in the awful hollows of his ears
Murmur, O ever murmur,—‘Come, O come!’
Virginal rites have I performed full long,
And all observance worthy of a bride.
Then wherefore, Death, dost thou to me this wrong,
So long estranged to linger from my side?
Am I not thine? O breathe upon my eyes
A gentle answer, Death, from thine Elysian skies!
| The Poetical Works of Aubrey De Vere | |