Yes, love is rest, is rest; then blow, sweet gale
Of soft forgetfulness about me still,
And O, ye Roses, balmy breath exhale
And all my consciousness with slumber fill.
And, O sweet Love, I pray you yield me now
One little pearl from the fair coronal
That crowns the loveliness of that calm brow,
And I, where'er I be, will own its thrall,
And gaze on it and dream until I see
A phantom love, before whom I shall fall