GERALDINE GREEN.

Light slumber is quitting

The eyelids it pressed,

The fairies are flitting,

Who charmed thee to rest:

Where night-dews were falling

Now feeds the wild bee,

The starling is calling,

My Darling, for thee.

The wavelets are crisper

That sway the shy fern,

The leaves fondly whisper,

“We wait thy return.”

Arise then, and hazy

Distrust from thee fling,

For sorrows that crazy

To-morrows may bring.

A vague yearning smote us —

But wake not to weep,

My bark, love, shall float us

Across the still deep,

To isles where the lotos,

Erst lulled thee to sleep.