III.

Oh, blessed sleep! oh, perfect rest!

Thus pillowed on your faithful breast,

Nor life nor death is wholly drear,

O tender heart, since you are here,

So dear, so dear!

Sweet love, my soul's sufficient crown!

Now, darling, kiss my eyelids down!

The Atlantic Monthly, Volume 15, No. 92, June, 1865 A Magazine of Literature, Art, and Politics · 第 30 / 65 题