Page:Poems Hornblower.djvu/211

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199

There comes a calm to close his wearied eyes,
Knows not a rest like this; no dream is here,
No vain anxiety, no fluttering hope,
To break the awful stillness; cold and fair,
Those tender images of infant love
Lie on each other's bosom; they will sleep—
The stranger's step disturbs them not; they fear
No stranger voices; and those closed lids,
That seem like drooping lilies in their whiteness,
Move at no passing gaze; no, they are sealed
In then eternal beauty; not a tear
Shall ever darken o'er them; not a cloud
Shall stain their early brightness: yet, perchance,
While the cold marble rests insensible,
They may be shining still,—they may have seen
The secrets of the things invisible,
And read the mysteries of time and death;
Perchance even now those soft and shaded orbs
Have opened on the far and unknown heaven,
And gazed on glory; they may have beheld
Scenes that the wise and good, with binning hearts,
Desire to look into; for who can see
The sweetness of those frail and fragile faces,
And feel no vision beaming on his soul
Of the eternal blest! O radiant dreams,
Such as attend on youth, and hope, and love,