Page:Collected poems vol 2 de la mare.djvu/99

 Now quench my silver lamp, prythee,
 * And bid the harpers harp that tune

Fairies which haunt the meadowlands
 * Sing clearly to the stars of June.

And bid them play, though I in dreams
 * No longer heed their pining strains,

For I would not to silence wake
 * When slumber o'er my senses wanes.

You Angels bright who me defend,
 * Enshadow me with curved wing,

And keep me in the darksome night
 * Till dawn another day do bring.