Fugitive Poetry. 1600–1878/The Sleeping Beauty

The Sleeping Beauty.

'Tis said in a bower, by fairy hands wrought, Once Beauty in slumber reposed;And morn, noon, and even, no waking time brought, For her eyes were by magic spell closed.But time did the charm of this witchery break, And though ages had passed o'er her now,The rose and the lily were fresh on her cheek, And no wrinkle was seen on her brow.For softly she slept, and her dreams were so sweet, Spotless innocence reigned in her breast,And passion was still in her silent retreat, And unbroken by care was her rest.When Beauty awoke, and had looked on the scene, This dark scene of sorrow and sin—She returned to her bower, so lone and serene, And peacefully slumbered again.