When the soul fainteth, and would fain forget,
Then sleep, the shadow of God’s smile, comes forth,
Gently, with downy darkness, and the dew
Of thoughts from Heaven, and with the quickening rest
That lightly slumbers—star thoughts beaming through
The dreamy dimness on the rippling breast.
Soft be that dew upon thy breast to-night!
Gentle thy dreams as zephyr to the flower!
Pure as the prayer that riseth as I write,
To hover round thee through the midnight hour!