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Of daily joys and memories pure and bright.
Sing to that soul of joys upon the way—
Let her awake and find them in the day.
Breathe in her willing ear Love’s word of charm—
Let her awake within Love’s circling arm.
Lead her whose head is pillowed on Love’s breast
Thro’ all the enchanted regions of the blest;
Thro’ flower-decked fields all jewelled o’er with dew—
So she may wake to find her dreams come true.
***
But oh! disturb not thou my shroud of sleep;
Lay me within the grave of slumber deep,
And call not forth one spirit of the past,
Nor one false hope the future may forecast.
Th’ exacting present cruelly demands
Unceasing service at my weary hands;
So when they lie at rest, oh lift them not
To touch one chord that would be best forgot.
Oh heal not every wound before I wake,
Then leave my heart at morn afresh to break.
