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POEMS.
Mortals have called you—
Cradle and grave.
By you, twin-brothers,
Mystical cherubs
With torches low-drooping
Stand ever watchful ;
Slumber and Death,
Innocent children,
By you stand weaving
Garlands of poppies, —
Garlands of lovely
Blossoms immortal ;
Placing them softly
Now on the hoary
Head of the old man,
Now on the young child’s
Bright golden curls,
Now on the thoughtful
~Strong man’s brow.
Whisper: “Sleep sweetly !”
Straightway they slumber,
Moments speed onwards,
Sorrows lie silent,
All is so well.
Ye blessed, ye radiant
Visions of childhood!
Haply the sleeper —
The sleeper low lying —
Once more beholds you!
Haply he findeth
In peaceful seclusion,
Not as delusion,
His cradle’s dream.
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