Page:The Vow of the Peacock.pdf/35

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The youthful sleeper slumbering there, With the pale moonlight in her hair; Her child-like head upon her arm, Cradling the soft cheek, rosy warm; The sweet mouth opening like a flower, Whose perfume fills the midnight hour; Her white hands clasped, as if she kept A vigil even while she slept: Or, as her rest too long delaying, Slumber stole over her while praying. Yet this is not the dreamless sleep That youth should know;—the still, the deep! See, on her cheek th' unquiet red A sudden crimson flush has shed! And now it fades, as colours die, While watching twilight's transient sky.