Page:The Poems of Oscar Wilde.pdf/255











is no peace beneath the noon.

Ah! in those meadows is there peace

Where, girdled with a silver fleece,

As a bright shepherd, strays the moon?

Queen of the gardens of the sky,

Where stars like lilies, white and fair,

Shine through the mists of frosty air,

Oh, tarry, for the dawn is nigh!

Oh, tarry, for the envious day

Stretches long hands to catch thy feet.

Alas! but thou art over-fleet,

Alas! I know thou wilt not stay.

Up sprang the sun to run his race,

The breeze blew fair on meadow and lea;

But in the west I seemed to see

The likeness of a human face. 241