Before Sleep.

Now the creeping nets of sleep     Stretch about and gather nigh,     And the midnight dim and deep     Like a spirit passes by,     Trailing from her crystal dress     Dreams and silent frostiness.     Yet a moment, ere I be     Tangled in the snares of night,     All the dreamy heart of me     To my Lady takes its flight,     To her chamber where she lies,     Wrapt in midnight phantasies.     Over many a glinting street     And the snow capped roofs of men,     Towers that tremble with the beat     Of the midnight bells, and then,     Where my body may not be,     Stands my spirit holily.     Wake not, Lady, wake not soon:     Through the frosty windows fall     Broken glimmers of the moon     Dimly on the floor and wall;     Wake not, Lady, never care,     'Tis my spirit kneeling there.     Let him kneel a moment now,     For the minutes fly apace;     Let him see the sleeping brow,     And the sweetly rounded face:     He shall tell me soon aright     How my Lady looks to-night.     How her tresses out and in     Fold in many a curly freak,     Round about the snowy chin     And the softly tinted cheek,     Where no sorrows now can weep,     And the dimples lie asleep.     How her eyelids meet and match,     Gathered in two dusky seams,     Each the little creamy thatch     Of an azure house of dreams,     Or two flowers that love the light     Folded softly up at night.     How her bosom, breathing low,     Stirs the wavy coverlet     With a motion soft and slow:     Oh, my Lady, wake not yet;     There without a thought of guile     Let my spirit dream a while.     Yet, my spirit, back to me,     Hurry soon and have a care;     Love will turn to agony,     If you rashly linger there;     Bending low as spirits may,     Touch her lips and come away.     So, fond spirit, beauty-fed,     Turning when your watch is o'er,     Weave a cross above the bed     And a sleep-rune on the floor,     That no evil enter there,     Ugly shapes and dreams beware.     Then, ye looming nets of sleep,     Ye may have me all your own,     For the night is wearing deep     And the ice-winds whisk and moan;     Come with all your drowsy stress,     Dreams and silent frostiness.