THE VOW OF THE PEACOCK.
57
She placed within the fragrant light—
Then bade her weary guest good-night.
A moment more and she was gone:
Both were so glad to be alone.
But soon Irene's eyelids close
'Mid those sweet visions which repose,
Gathering their fragrant life by day
From violet bells and hawthorn spray—
I hold that in the noontide hours
Sweet dreams are treasured up in flowers.
But for Amenaïde, her head
Reposed not on its silken bed;
Ah! what have eyes to do with sleep
That seek, and vainly seek, to weep?
No dew on the dark lash appears,—
The heart is all too full for tears.
