Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, TO MISS --, ON HER ASKING THE AUTHOR WHY SHE HAD SLEEPLESS NIGHTS, by THOMAS MOORE


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

TO MISS --, ON HER ASKING THE AUTHOR WHY SHE HAD SLEEPLESS NIGHTS, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: I'll ask the sylph who round thee flies
Last Line: Perhaps, o sylph! Perhaps 'tis love!
Alternate Author Name(s): Little, Thomas
Subject(s): Insomnia; Love; Sleeplessness


I'LL ask the sylph who round thee flies,
And in thy breath his pinion dips,
Who suns him in thy lucent eyes,
And faints upon thy sighing lips:

I'll ask him where's the veil of sleep
That used to shade thy looks of light;
And why those eyes their vigil keep,
When other suns are sunk in night.

And I will say -- her angel breast
Has never throbb'd with guilty sting;
Her bosom is the sweetest nest
Where Slumber could repose his wing!

And I will say -- her cheeks of flame,
Which glow like roses in the sun,
Have never felt a blush of shame,
Except for what her eyes have done!

Then tell me, why, thou child of air!
Does slumber from her eyelids rove?
What is her heart's impassion'd care? --
Perhaps, O sylph! perhaps 'tis love!





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