My Lady Sleeps
Paperback
Currently unavailable to order
ISBN10: 115121485X
ISBN13: 9781151214850
Publisher: General Books
Pages: 112
Weight: 0.38
Height: 0.27 Width: 9.00 Depth: 6.00
Language: English
ISBN13: 9781151214850
Publisher: General Books
Pages: 112
Weight: 0.38
Height: 0.27 Width: 9.00 Depth: 6.00
Language: English
This historic book may have numerous typos and missing text. Purchasers can download a free scanned copy of the original book (without typos) from the publisher. Not indexed. Not illustrated. 1899 edition. Excerpt: ...Is wishing ghosts to rise; And, if I had the spell To call the buried well, Which one would I? Thomas Lovell Beddoes. REST CURFEW. Curfeto. i. SOLEMNLY, mournfully, Dealing its dole, The Curfew Bell Is beginning to toll. Cover the embers And put out the light; Toil comes with the morning, And rest with the night. Dark grow the windows, And quenched is the fire; Sound fades into silence, --All footsteps retire. No voice in the chambers, No sound in the hall! Sleep and oblivion Reign over all! II. The book is completed, And closed, like the day; And the hand that has written it Lays it away. Dim grow its fancies; Forgotten they lie; Like coals in the ashes, They darken and die. Song sinks into silence, The story is told, The windows are darkened, The hearth-stone is cold. Darker and darker The black shadows fall; Sleep and oblivion Reign over all. Henry W. Longfellow. EVENING HYMN. THOU Whose nature cannot sleep, On my temples sentry keep! Guard me 'gainst those watchful foes, Whose eyes are open while mine close; Let no dreams my head infest, But such as Jacob's temples blest. While I do rest, my soul advance; Make me to sleep a holy trance, That I may, my rest being wrought, Awake into some holy thought; And with as active vigor run My course as doth the nimble sun. Sleep is a death. Oh! make me try, By sleeping, what it is to die: And as gently lay my head On my grave, as now my bed. Howe'er I rest, great God, let me Awake again at last with Thee. And thus assured, behold I lie Securely, or to wake or die. Sir Thomas Browne. SDoton to NOVEMBER woods are bare and still; November days are clear and bright; Each noon burns up the morning's chill; The morning's snow is gone by night; Each day my steps grow slow, grow light, As through the woods I...