I met at eve the Prince of Sleep, His was a still and lovely face, He wandered through a valley steep, Lovely in a lonely place. His garb was grey of lavender, About his brows a poppy-wreath Burned like dim coals, and everywhere The air was sweeter for his breath. His twilight feet no sandals wore, His eyes shone faint in their own flame, Fair moths that gloomed his steps before Seemed letters of his lovely name. His house is in the mountain ways, A phantom house of misty walls, Whose golden flocks at evening graze, And 'witch the moon with muffled calls. Upwelling from his shadowy springs Sweet waters shake a trembling sound, There flit the hoot-owl's silent wings, There hath his web the silkworm wound. Dark in his pools clear visions lurk, And rosy, as with morning buds, Along his dales of broom and birk Dreams haunt his solitary woods. I met at eve the Prince of Sleep, His was a still and lovely face, He wandered through a valley steep, Lovely in a lonely place. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE AWAKENING by JAMES WELDON JOHNSON CELSUS AT HADRIAN'S VILLA by EDGAR LEE MASTERS POST-MORTEM by EMILY DICKINSON PATIENCE by PAUL HAMILTON HAYNE SENTINEL SONGS: 1 by ABRAM JOSEPH RYAN JUNE BRACKEN AND HEATHER by ALFRED TENNYSON |