And senses drowned in slumber lie,
And star and moon their still watch keep,
Is imaged to my sleeping eye?
The gems amid the braids that ’twine
The dark locks from her pale brow thrown,
Faintly, as dews by eve wept, shine.
Her cheek—its living tints are flown.
Sure I should know that fond, fixed gaze,
Those hands whose fairy palms infold
Gently my own, the smile that plays