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“SLEEP, sleep on! forget thy pain;

My hand is on thy brow,
My spirit on thy brain;
My pity on thy heart, poor friend;

And from my fingers flow
The powers of life, and like a sign,

Seal thee from thine hour of woe;
And brood on thee, but may not blend

With thine.


Sleep, sleep on ! I love thee not;

But when I think that he
Who made and makes my lot
As full of flowers as thine of weeds,

Might have been lost like thee;
And that a hand which was not mine,

Might then have charmed his agony
As I another's — my heart bleeds
For thine.



“Sleep, sleep, and with the slumber of

The dead and the unborn
Forget thy life and love;
Forget that thou must wake for ever;

Forget the world's dull scorn ;
Forget lost health, and the divine

Feelings which died in youth's brief morn; And forget me, for I can never

Be thine.



“ Like a cloud big with a May shower,

My soul weeps healing rain,
On thee, thou withered flower ;
It breathes mute music on thy sleep ;

Its odour calms thy brain;
Its light within thy gloomy breast

Spreads like a second youth again.
By mine thy being is to its deep



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“The spell is done. How feel you now?" “Better - Quite well,” replied

The sleeper. -"What would do You good when suffering and awake?

What cure your head and side ? — ” What would cure, that would kill me, Jane :

And as I must on earth abide Awhile, yet tempt me not to break

My chain.”



WHEN the lamp is shattered
The light in the dust lies dead -

When the cloud is scattered
The rainbow's glory is shed.

When the lute is broken,
Sweet tones are remembered not;

When the lips have spoken,
Loved accents are soon forgot.


As music and splendour
Survive not the lamp and the lute,

The heart's echoes render No

song when the spirit is mute :
No song but sad dirges,
Like the wind through a ruined cell,

Or the mournful surges
That ring the dead seaman's knell.


When hearts have once mingled
Love first leaves the well-built nest,

The weak one is singled
To endure what it once possest.

O, Love ! who bewailest
The frailty of all things here,

Why choose you the frailest For your cradle, your home and your bier?


Its passions will rock thee
As the storms rock the ravens on high :

Bright reason will mock thee,
Like the sun from a wintry sky.

From thy nest every rafter
Will rot, and thine eagle home

Leave thee naked to laughter,
When leaves fall and cold winds come.


Best and brightest, come away!
Fairer far than this fair Day,
Which, like thee to those in sorrow,
Comes to bid a sweet good-morrow
To the rough Year just awake
In its cradle on the brake.
The brightest hour of unborn Spring,
Through the winter wandering,
Found, it seems, the halcyon Morn
To hoar February born;
Bending from Heaven, in azure mirth,
It kissed the forehead of the Earth,
And smiled upon the silent sea,
And bade the frozen streams be free,
And waked to music all their fountains,
And breathed upon the frozen mountains,
And like a prophetess of May
Strewed flowers upon the barren way,
Making the wintry world appear
Like one on whom thou smilest, dear.

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