26
THE VOW OF THE PEACOCK.
The youthful sleeper slumbering there,
With the pale moonlight in her hair;
Her child-like head upon her arm,
Cradling the soft cheek, rosy warm;
The sweet mouth opening like a flower,
Whose perfume fills the midnight hour;
Her white hands clasped, as if she kept
A vigil even while she slept:
Or, as her rest too long delaying,
Slumber stole over her while praying.
Yet this is not the dreamless sleep
That youth should know;—the still, the deep!
See, on her cheek th' unquiet red
A sudden crimson flush has shed!
And now it fades, as colours die,
While watching twilight's transient sky.
