| |
| ARIEL to Miranda:—Hear | |
| This good-night the sea-winds bear; | |
| And let thine unacquainted ear | |
| Take grief for their interpreter. | |
| |
| Good-night! I have risen so high | 5 |
| Into slumber’s rarity, | |
| Not a dream can beat its feather | |
| Through the unsustaining ether. | |
| Let the sea-winds make avouch | |
| How thunder summoned me to couch, | 10 |
| Tempest curtained me about | |
| And turned the sun with his own hand out: | |
| And though I toss upon my bed | |
| My dream is not disquieted; | |
| Nay, deep I sleep upon the deep, | 15 |
| And my eyes are wet, but I do not weep; | |
| And I fell to sleep so suddenly | |
| That my lips are moist yet—could’st thou see— | |
| With the good-night draught I have drunk to thee. | |
| Thou canst not wipe them; for it was Death | 20 |
| Damped my lips that has dried my breath. | |
| A little while—it is not long— | |
| The salt shall dry on them like the song. | |
| Now know’st thou that voice desolate,— | |
| Mourning ruined joy’s estate,— | 25 |
| Reached thee through a closing gate. | |
| ‘Go’st thou to Plato?’ Ah, girl, no! | |
| It is to Pluto that I go. | |
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