She lies so still, her only motion

The waves of hair that round her sweep

Revolving to their hushed explosion

Of fragrance on the shores of sleep.

Is it my spirit or her flesh

That takes this breathless, silver swoon?

Sleep has no darkness to enmesh

That lonely rival of the moon,

Her beauty, vigilant and white,

That wakeful through the long blue night,

Watches, with own sleepless eyes,

The darkness silver into day,

And through their sockets burns away

The sorrows that have made them wise.