SHE sleeps among her pillows soft, (A dove, now wearied with her flight,) And all around, and all aloft, Hang flutes and folds of virgin white: Her hair out-darkens the dark night, Her glance outshines the starry sky; But now her locks are hidden quite, And closed is her fringed eye! She sleepeth: wherefore doth she start? She sigheth: doth she feel no pain? None, none! the dream is near her heart: The spirit of sleep is in her brain. He cometh down like golden rain, Without a wish, without a sound; He cheers the sleeper (ne'er in vain) Like May, when earth is winter-bound. All day within some cave he lies, Dethroned from his nightly sway -- Far fading when the dawning skies Our souls with wakening thoughts array. Two Spirits of might doth man obey; By each he's wrought, from each he learns: The one is Lord of life by day; The other when starry night returns. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A VALEDICTION: OF MY NAME IN THE WINDOW by JOHN DONNE HIS IMMORTALITY by THOMAS HARDY THE HOCK-CART, OR HARVEST HOME by ROBERT HERRICK THE SURRENDER AT APPOMATTOX [APRIL 9, 1865] by HERMAN MELVILLE THE YOUNG GRAY HEAD by CAROLINE ANNE BOWLES SOUTHEY THE SHEPHEARDES CALENDER: NOVEMBER by EDMUND SPENSER WHERE LIES THE LAND by WILLIAM WORDSWORTH BEFORE VICKSBURG by GEORGE HENRY BOKER TAKE YOUR CHOICE: OR HERE'S GRANTLAND RICE'S METHOD by BERTON BRALEY |