MY LADY SLEEP
In cool gray cloisters walks my Lady Sleep,
Telling her smooth beads slowly, one by one
Along the wall the stealthy shadows creep;
Night holds the world in thrall, and day is done.
Telling her smooth beads slowly, one by one
Along the wall the stealthy shadows creep;
Night holds the world in thrall, and day is done.
Sometimes, while winds sigh soft above her head,
Down the long garden path my Lady strays,
And kneeling by the pansies' purple bed,
Counts the small faces in the moonlit haze.
Down the long garden path my Lady strays,
And kneeling by the pansies' purple bed,
Counts the small faces in the moonlit haze.
Sometimes she lies upon the silver sands,
Following the sea-birds, as they wheel and dip;
Or idly clasps, in still persistent hands,
The shining grains that through her fingers slip.
Following the sea-birds, as they wheel and dip;
Or idly clasps, in still persistent hands,
The shining grains that through her fingers slip.
Or paces long, with flowing locks all wet,
Where the low thunder booms forevermore,
And the great waves no man hath numbered yet,
Roll, one by one, to break upon the shore.
Where the low thunder booms forevermore,
And the great waves no man hath numbered yet,
Roll, one by one, to break upon the shore.
Sometimes she counts the brightening twilight stars,
The daisies smiling in the meadow grass,
The slow kine trailing through the pasture bars,
The white sheep loitering in the mountain pass.
The daisies smiling in the meadow grass,
The slow kine trailing through the pasture bars,
The white sheep loitering in the mountain pass.
But evermore her hands are cool and calm—
Her quiet voice is ever hushed and low;
Her quiet voice is ever hushed and low;
