 | Poems |  |
43
Asleep
A slumber came thy troubled heart to steep;Thy sunny head upon the pillow lay,
Like the first marigold of opening May
Upon a snow-patch in a dingle deep;
Thy gentle eyes that are so loth to weep,
Were folded from the urgency of day,
Like flowers in silken petals lapped away;
Over thy brow swept summer clouds of sleep.
I stood beside thee, like the spirit of care
That watches children, laid in drowsy cot;
“Alas,” methought, “what fate has linked thy lot
With one who breathes the desolate dry air
Of lone ambition?” So, awoke thee not;
But let thee slumber; slumber, unaware.
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