XXXV.
I went into the deserts of dim sleep--
That world which, like an unknown wilderness,
Bounds this with its recesses wide and deep
_Percy Bysshe Shelley_.
XXXVI.
Oh, Morpheus, my more than love, my life,
Come back to me, come back to me! Hold out
Your wonderful, wide arms and gather me
Again against your breast. I lay above
Your heart and felt its breathing firm and slow
As waters that obey the moon and lo,
Rest infinite was mine and calm. My soul
Is sick for want of you. Oh, Morpheus,
Heart of my weary heart, come back to me!
_Leolyn Louise Everett_.
XXXVII.
Lips
Parted in slumber, whence the regular breath
Of innocent dreams arose.
_Percy Bysshe Shelley_.
XXXVIII.
A late lark twitters in the quiet skies;
And from the west,
Where the sun, his day's work ended,
Lingers in content,
There falls on the old, gray city
An influence luminous and serene,
A shining peace.
The smoke ascends
In a rosy-and-golden haze. The spires
Shine, and are changed. In the valley
Shadows rise. The lark sings on. The sun,
Closing his benediction,
Sinks, and the darkening air
Thrills with a sense of the triumphing night--
Night with her train of stars
And her great gift of sleep.
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