But I bade her eyelids close
'Neath a sweet dream's gentle sway,—
False, but yet less false than those
Which the maiden dreamed by day.
I have seen the iron brow
Grow yet darker in its rest;
While the flushed cheek's angry glow
Told what lurked in the dark breast.
I have entered the drear cell,
Where the pallid murderer past
Hours whose anguish none may tell,
Yet clung to them as his last.
I have looked on craft and crime
In the hearts of youth and age:
O Night! thine's fearful time—
Mine a weary pilgrimage!
Better love I sweet noontide,
Haunting the blue hyacinth bell,
Where the silver waters glide—
Where the falling dew-drops dwell.
Welcome to the morning hours!
Welcome to the rising sun!
I may now go haunt the flowers,—
Joy! my human task is done.
L.E. L.
