Come hither and behold this lady’s face, Who lies asleep, as if strong Death had kissed Upon her eyes the kiss none can resist, And held her fast in his prolonged embrace! See the still lips, which grant no answering grace To Love’s fond prayers, and the sweet, carven smile, Sign of some dream-born joy which did beguile The dreaming soul from its fair resting-place! So will she look when Death indeed has sway O’er her dear loveliness, and holds her fast In that last sleep which knows nor night nor day, Which hopes no future, contemplates no past; So will she look; but now, behold! she wakes— Thus, from the Night, Dawn’s sunlit beauty breaks.
Laura Sleeping
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