For oftentimes, methinks, her mood
Is wry, and not to do me good.
O God, 'twould better be if she
To wake me should delay too long,
And find with face all still and cold
Me unresponsive to her song!

The blind grows pale with dawn, and hark!
It is the matin of the lark.
Though there be virtue in thy touch
I will not pray thee overmuch,
Lest I should weary thee, and be
Cast out of all thy love by thee;
And, Sleep, I will not moan or weep
If thou wilt come to-morrow, Sleep.

MIDSUMMER NIGHT

BY ARCHIBALD LAMPMAN

Mother of balms and soothings manifold,
Quiet-breathed Night, whose brooding hours are

seven,

To whom the voices of all rest are given, And those few stars whose scattered names are told. Far off, beyond the westward hills outrolled,

Darker than thou, more still, more dreamy even, The golden moon leans in the dusky heaven, And under her, one star, a point of gold.

And all go slowly lingering toward the west,
As we go down forgetfully to our rest,

Weary of daytime, tired of noise and light.
Ah, it was time that thou shouldst come, for we
Were sore athirst, and had great need of thee,
Thou sweet physician, balmy-bosomed Night.

SWEET AND LOW

BY ALFRED TENNYSON

Sweet and low, sweet and low
Wind of the western sea;
Low, low, breathe and blow,
Wind of the western sea!

Over the rolling waters go,

Come from the dying moon, and blow,

Blow him again to me;

While my little one, while my pretty one, sleeps.

Sleep and rest, sleep and rest,

Father will come to thee soon;

Rest, rest, on mother's breast,

Father will come to thee soon;

Father will come to his babe in the nest,

Silver sails all out of the west

Under the silver moon:

Sleep, my little one, sleep, my pretty one, sleep.

WYNKEN, BLYNKEN AND NOD

BY EUGENE FIELD

Wynken, Blynken, and Nod one night

Sailed off in a wooden shoe,—

Sailed on a river of crystal light

Into a sea of dew.

"Where are you going, and what do you wish?" The old moon asked the three:

"We have come to fish for the herring-fish
That live in this beautiful sea:

Nets of silver and gold have we,"
Said Wynken,

Blynken,

And Nod.

The old moon laughed and sang a song,
As they rocked in the wooden shoe;
And the wind that sped them all night long

Ruffled the waves of dew;

The little stars were the herring-fish

That lived in the beautiful sea.

"Now cast your nets wherever you wish,Never afeard are we!"

So cried the stars to the fishermen three,

Wynken,
Blynken,
And Nod.

All night long their nets they threw

To the stars in the twinkling foam,—

Then down from the skies came the wooden shoe,

Bringing the fishermen home:

'Twas all so pretty a sail, it seemed

As if it could not be;

And some folk thought 'twas a dream they'd dreamed

Of sailing that beautiful sea;

But I shall name you the fishermen three:

Wynken,
Blynken,

And Nod.

Wynken and Blynken are two little eyes,
And Nod is a little head,

And the wooden shoe that sailed the skies
Is a wee one's trundle-bed;

So shut your eyes while Mother sings

Of wonderful sights that be,

And you shall see the beautiful things

As you rock on the misty sea

Where the old shoe rocked the fishermen three,

Wynken,

Blynken,

And Nod.

MY SOUL IS AN ENCHANTED BOAT

BY PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY

My soul is an enchanted boat,

Which, like a sleeping swan doth float

Upon the silver waves of thy sweet singing;
And thine does like an angel sit

Beside the helm conducting it,

Whilst all the winds with melody are ringing.

It seems to float ever, for ever,
Upon that many-winding river,
Between mountains, woods, abysses,
A paradise of wildernesses!

Till, like one in slumber bound,

Borne to the ocean, I float down, around,
Into a sea profound, of ever spreading sound.

BELLS IN THE RAIN 1

BY ELINOR WYLIE

Sleep falls, with limpid drops of rain,
Upon the steep cliffs of the town.
Sleep falls; men are at peace again
While the small drops fall softly down.

The bright drops ring like bells of glass
Thinned by the wind, and lightly blown;
Sleep cannot fall on peaceful grass
So softly as it falls on stone.

Peace falls unheeded on the dead

Asleep; they have had deep peace to drink;
Upon a live man's bloody head

It falls most tenderly, I think.

1 From "Nets to Catch the Wind" by Elinor Wylie, copyright, 1921, by Harcourt, Brace and Company, Inc.