This page needs to be proofread.
POEMS. 155
XVII. ASLEEP.
A S far from pity as complaint,
- As cool to speech as stone,
As numb to revelation As if my trade were bone.
As far from time as history,
As near yourself to-day As children to the rainbow's scarf,
Or sunset's yellow play
To eyelids in the sepulchre.
How still the dancer lies, While color's revelations break,
And blaze the butterflies !
�� �
