Stedman and Hutchinson, comps. A Library of American Literature:
An Anthology in Eleven Volumes. 1891.
Vols. IX–XI: Literature of the Republic, Part IV., 1861–1889
Slumber Song
By Elisabeth CavazzaC
Not with footsteps that delay,
For thy wool-soft sandals are
Over-slow upon their way.
On thy floating dusky hair
Wreaths of poppies thou dost set,
That we mortals may forget
Waking hours and all their care.
From afar, come, sweet Sleep!
One that weareth golden wings,
That on asphodel doth feed
And doth drink at heavenly springs.
Ride not through the ivory gate,
Come to us through gates of horn,
Bring good dreams made true at morn,
Even though the morn be late.
On thy steed, come, sweet Sleep!
Of thy drowsiest poppy flowers,
Bind it over and beneath
The incessant fleeting hours.
Set thy lips against their face,
Whisper to them, light and low,
Plead for us before they go
That they stay a little space.
Weave a wreath, gentle Sleep!
For the night is near its noon:
Thou wilt find us over-late
So thou dost not seek us soon.
For the cock begins to crow
At the earliest beam of light;
Then with every other sprite,
Thou, a gentle ghost, must go.
Do not wait, haste thee, Sleep!
As a mother, journeying,
Holds her babe and on her course
Lullaby doth softly sing.
Let thine hair fall round thy face
Veiling visions in thine eyes,
Carry us to Paradise
At thy steed’s most quiet pace.
On thy horse, take us, Sleep!