Innocent dreams be thine! The silver night
Is a fit curtain for thy lovely sleep.
The stars keep watch above thee, and the moon
Sits like a brooding spirit up in Heaven,
Ruling the night's deep influences, and life
Hath a hushed pulse, and the suspended leaves
Sleep with their whisperings as if the dew
Were a soft finger on the lip of sound.
Innocent dreams be thine! thy heart sends up
Its thoughts of purity like pearly bells
Rising in crystal fountains, and the sin
That thou hast seen by day, will, like a shade,
Pass from thy memory, as if the pure
Had an unconscious ministry by night.
Midnight—and now for music! Would I were
A sound that I might steal upon thy dreams,
And, like the breathing of my flute, distil
Sweetly upon thy senses. Softly, boy!
Breathe the low cadences as if the words
Fainted upon thy lip—I would not break
Her slumber quite—but only, as she dreams,
Witch the lull'd sense till she believes she hears
Celestial melody:—