Page:Forget Me Not 1837.pdf/3



Sleep with honey-dews hath bound her, Sleep unwaked by day; Through the forest growing round her None may take their way, For it is a path forbidden By the words of power; There the beauty must be hidden Till the appointed hour; Till the young deliverer cometh, And the maiden life resumeth.

Purple fruit and golden chalice Lie upon the floor; For, in that enchanted palace, All is as before. There still is the censer burning, With its perfumed flame; Years on many years returning, See it still the same; It will burn till light re-living In those closed eyes quench its giving.

There her ivory lute, too, slumbers On the haunted ground,