The dove of peace seems brooding, while deep sleep
Heaves the long ringlets of the golden hair
That cluster on her neck, and sweep the earth:
A smile is lingering on her placid lip,
As though she dreamt of heaven, the while her brow,
As that same heaven, arched and calm, shoots forth
A halo—in her breast a dove is nestling,
And angel wings are spread to guard her dreams
From evil—favoured one of God—who art thou?
’Tis patience, the beloved of Heaven! the meek,