GOOD-NIGHT

Good-night, sweetheart, I’ll dream I am Some airy spirit of the dark, That within thy chamber, dear, May float as the breath of a flower; Or like some passing bird of night, Rest on black wings to gaze at thee In starlight sleeping on thy bed, Thine eyelids closed upon thine eyes Of glory, and thy hair in floods Of dark and changing gold, at rest About thy sad and fairest face, And on thy breast, so holy white. Beside thee exquisitely stealing, One trusting hand, whose tender touch Would turn the blinding pain from Hell, And from the hollow eyes of Death Would verily draw tears.