Maria Jane Jewsbury

Address to Sleep

Written At Midnight

Thus, without life, how sweet in life to lie!
Thus, without dying, oh! how blest to die!
I HAVE heard music meet for festive hall,
I hear it still;
And voices gentle as the dews that fall,
Sweet flowers to fill:
But voice and music to my soul were vain,
It was a bud sealed from the summer rain.
I saw the bright eyes of a loving boy
Sparkle and dance;
And one bend on him with soft yearning joy,
A mother's glance;
And mind communed with mind, and deeds were told
Of earth's immortals yet my heart was cold!
Cold and unquiet that deep fount of thought,
For o'er it swept
Shadows of other years with darkness fraught;
And memory wept,
As from the cypress, or old solemn yew,
Fall midnight droppings of funereal dew.
Spring for gay blossoms; youth for joyous cheer;
Graves for the dead!
And for worn hearts to whom the life once dear
Is odour shed,
Music that hath no echo, a dim deep
Of perished things for them the gift of sleep;
Calming the wild mood and the weary brow,
Yet leaving breath;
Gentle, and kind, and beautiful art thou,
Type of my death!
Oh! shroud this being in thy blest repose;
Hide, like a friend, till morn, its errors and its woes!