SARA COLERIDGE1802-1852
1802-1852
O sleep, my babe, hear not the rippling wave,Nor feel the breeze that round thee ling’ring straysTo drink thy balmy breath,And sigh one long farewell.Soon shall it mourn above thy wat’ry bed,And whisper to me, on the wave-beat shore,Deep murm’ring in reproach,Thy sad untimely fate.Ere those dear eyes had open’d to the light,In vain to plead, thy coming life was sold,O waken’d but to sleep,Whence it can wake no more!A thousand and a thousand silken leavesThe tufted beech unfolds in early spring,All clad in tenderest green,All of the self-same shape;A thousand infant faces, soft and sweet,Each year sends forth, yet every mother viewsHer last not least belovedLike its dear self alone.Its musing mind hath ever yet foreshapedThe face to-morrow’s sun shall first reveal,No heart hath e’er conceivedWhat love that face will bring.O sleep, my babe, nor heed how mourns the galeTo part with thy soft locks and fragrant breath,As when it deeply sighsO’er autumn’s latest bloom.
O sleep, my babe, hear not the rippling wave,Nor feel the breeze that round thee ling’ring straysTo drink thy balmy breath,And sigh one long farewell.Soon shall it mourn above thy wat’ry bed,And whisper to me, on the wave-beat shore,Deep murm’ring in reproach,Thy sad untimely fate.Ere those dear eyes had open’d to the light,In vain to plead, thy coming life was sold,O waken’d but to sleep,Whence it can wake no more!A thousand and a thousand silken leavesThe tufted beech unfolds in early spring,All clad in tenderest green,All of the self-same shape;A thousand infant faces, soft and sweet,Each year sends forth, yet every mother viewsHer last not least belovedLike its dear self alone.Its musing mind hath ever yet foreshapedThe face to-morrow’s sun shall first reveal,No heart hath e’er conceivedWhat love that face will bring.O sleep, my babe, nor heed how mourns the galeTo part with thy soft locks and fragrant breath,As when it deeply sighsO’er autumn’s latest bloom.
O sleep, my babe, hear not the rippling wave,Nor feel the breeze that round thee ling’ring straysTo drink thy balmy breath,And sigh one long farewell.
O sleep, my babe, hear not the rippling wave,
Nor feel the breeze that round thee ling’ring strays
To drink thy balmy breath,
And sigh one long farewell.
Soon shall it mourn above thy wat’ry bed,And whisper to me, on the wave-beat shore,Deep murm’ring in reproach,Thy sad untimely fate.
Soon shall it mourn above thy wat’ry bed,
And whisper to me, on the wave-beat shore,
Deep murm’ring in reproach,
Thy sad untimely fate.
Ere those dear eyes had open’d to the light,In vain to plead, thy coming life was sold,O waken’d but to sleep,Whence it can wake no more!
Ere those dear eyes had open’d to the light,
In vain to plead, thy coming life was sold,
O waken’d but to sleep,
Whence it can wake no more!
A thousand and a thousand silken leavesThe tufted beech unfolds in early spring,All clad in tenderest green,All of the self-same shape;
A thousand and a thousand silken leaves
The tufted beech unfolds in early spring,
All clad in tenderest green,
All of the self-same shape;
A thousand infant faces, soft and sweet,Each year sends forth, yet every mother viewsHer last not least belovedLike its dear self alone.
A thousand infant faces, soft and sweet,
Each year sends forth, yet every mother views
Her last not least beloved
Like its dear self alone.
Its musing mind hath ever yet foreshapedThe face to-morrow’s sun shall first reveal,No heart hath e’er conceivedWhat love that face will bring.
Its musing mind hath ever yet foreshaped
The face to-morrow’s sun shall first reveal,
No heart hath e’er conceived
What love that face will bring.
O sleep, my babe, nor heed how mourns the galeTo part with thy soft locks and fragrant breath,As when it deeply sighsO’er autumn’s latest bloom.
O sleep, my babe, nor heed how mourns the gale
To part with thy soft locks and fragrant breath,
As when it deeply sighs
O’er autumn’s latest bloom.