More slumberous, more infant-like, give forth
Its delicate breathings. You might see the hair
Wave in stray ringlets as the downy breath
Lapsed through the parted lips, and dream the leaf
Torn from the rose and laid upon her mouth
Was lifted by that zephyr of the soul
That still kept watch within—waiting on life
In ever anxious ministry. Lips and brow—
The one most sweetly parted as for song—
The other smooth and bright, even as the pearls