Sweet on the house top falls the gentle shower, When jet black darkness crowns the silent hour, When shrill the owlet pours her hollow tone, Like some lost child sequester'd and alone, When Will's bewildering wisp begins to flare, And Philomela breathes her dulcet air, 'Tis sweet to listen to her nightly tune, Deprived of starlight or the smiling moon. When deadly winds sweep round the rural shed, And tell of strangers lost without a bed, Fond sympathy invokes her dol'rous lay, And pleasure steals in sorrow's gloom away, Till fost'ring Somnus bids my eyes to close, And smiling visions open to repose; Still on my soothing couch I lie at ease, Still round my chamber flows the whistling breeze. Still in the chain of life I lie confined, To all the threat'ning ills of life resigned; Regardless of the wandering elfs of night, While phantoms break on my immortal sight; The trump of morning bids my slumber end, While from a flood of light I straight ascend, When on a busy world I cast my eyes, And think of nightly slumbers with surprise. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...HOW IT STRIKES A CONTEMPORARY by ROBERT BROWNING AT A SOLEMN MUSIC by JOHN MILTON ONE CROWDED HOUR, FR. OLD MORTALITY by WALTER SCOTT DRINKING SONG (3) by ALCAEUS OF MYTILENE THE VALLEY by HARRY RANDOLPH BLYTHE |