Gray.
153
And for each sullen drop that assuages its fever,
The angel stoops softly, and kisses my hair.
The angel stoops softly, and kisses my hair.
And at dawn I perceive in those shadowy tresses
Bright silvery threads, as they fall o'er my breast,
And I know where the angel has left his caresses,
A promise and pledge that he hastens my rest.
Bright silvery threads, as they fall o'er my breast,
And I know where the angel has left his caresses,
A promise and pledge that he hastens my rest.
