 | Forest leaves |  |
TO SLEEP.
Yes, come, for I am weary, and would feel
Thy breath of balm, upon my fever'd brow;
Soft to my couch thy breezy foot-steps steal,
Oh, gentle soother! thou art welcome now.
Thy breath of balm, upon my fever'd brow;
Soft to my couch thy breezy foot-steps steal,
Oh, gentle soother! thou art welcome now.
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How quietly thou glidest from thy bower
Of silken poppies, in the shadowy vale,
Where Lethe's waters press the silent shore,
And drooping plants their dreamy breath exhale.
Of silken poppies, in the shadowy vale,
Where Lethe's waters press the silent shore,
And drooping plants their dreamy breath exhale.
Now lay thy velvet hand upon mine eyes,
Shut out the world, and calm my throbbing brain;
Then from the twilight land of mysteries,
I pray thee, beckon thine enchanted train.
Shut out the world, and calm my throbbing brain;
Then from the twilight land of mysteries,
I pray thee, beckon thine enchanted train.
Shadows of gentle memories, dress'd by thee
In radiant tissue of immortal light;
And yet with semblance of reality,
And all familiar to my mental sight.
In radiant tissue of immortal light;
And yet with semblance of reality,
And all familiar to my mental sight.
All forms of Love, and Truth, and holy Hope,
That laid their short-liv'd offerings on my heart,
When I believ'd that flowers would never droop,
And braided roses never fall apart.
That laid their short-liv'd offerings on my heart,
When I believ'd that flowers would never droop,
And braided roses never fall apart.
Oh, simple faith of girlhood! Purer, far,
Than the cold worship of the world-wise heart,
Which desolate, and seam'd with many a scar,
Conceals its anguish with a veil of art.
Than the cold worship of the world-wise heart,
Which desolate, and seam'd with many a scar,
Conceals its anguish with a veil of art.
Thy dewy fingers only can restore
The faded treasures of life's blessed morn:
And weave around the heart, which hopes no more,
Sweet garlands of the rose that wears no thorn.
The faded treasures of life's blessed morn:
And weave around the heart, which hopes no more,
Sweet garlands of the rose that wears no thorn.
| Forest leaves | |