On - - - - Asleep.

Sleep on, and dream of Heav'n awhile.
Tho' shut so close thy laughing eyes,
Thy rosy lips still seem to smile,
And move, and breathe delicious sighs!--

Ah, now soft blushes tinge her cheeks,
And mantle o'er her neck of snow.
Ah, now she murmurs, now she speaks
What most I wish--and fear to know.

She starts, she trembles, and she weeps!
Her fair hands folded on her breast.
--And now, how like a saint she sleeps!
A seraph in the realms of rest!

Sleep on secure! Above controul,
Thy thoughts belong to Heav'n and thee!
And may the secret of thy soul
Repose within its sanctuary!

Samuel Rogers

Samuel Rogers was an English poet during the Romantic period. Born in 1763, he grew a reputation not for his volume of work but rather for the elegance and refinement of his poetry. His notable works include 'The Pleasures of Memory' which was well received. Rogers was also known for his role as a patron of the arts and his significant art collection. He passed away in 1855 and is often remembered more for his influence in literary circles than for his poetry itself.

Samuel Rogers

A Farewell.

Samuel Rogers, Simple Poetry

Verses Written To Be Spoken By Mrs. Siddons.

Samuel Rogers, Simple Poetry

To A Voice That Had Been Lost. [1]

Samuel Rogers, Simple Poetry

English

Suggested Poems

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To -----

Ah! little thought she, when, with wild delight,
By many a torrent's shining track she flew,
When mountain-glens and caverns full of night
O'er her young mind divine enchantment threw,

That in her veins a secret horror slept,
That her light footsteps should be heard no more,
That she should die--nor watch'd, alas, nor wept
By thee, unconscious of the pangs she bore.

Yet round her couch indulgent Fancy drew
The kindred, forms her closing eye requir'd.
There didst thou stand--there, with the smile she knew.
She mov'd her lips to bless thee, and expir'd.

And now to thee she comes; still, still the same
As in the hours gone unregarded by!
To thee, how chang'd, comes as she ever came;
Health on her cheek, and pleasure in her eye!

Nor less, l...

Samuel Rogers

To A Sleeping Boy.

Sleep on! Sleep on! beguiling
    The hours with happy rest.
Sleep! - by that dreamy smiling,
    I know that thou art blest.
Thy mother over thee hath leant
    To guard thee from annoy,
And the angel of the innocent
    Was in that dream, my boy!

The tinting of the summer rose
    Is on that pillowed cheek,
And the quietness of summer thought
    Has made thy forehead meek.
And yet that little ample brow,
    And arching lip, are fraught
With pledges of high manliness,
    And promises of thought.

Thy polished limbs are rounded out
    As is the Autumn fruit,
And full and reedy is the voice
    That slumber hath made mute.
And, looking on thy perfect form -
    Hearing thy pleasant tone -
I almost weep for joy, my so...

Nathaniel Parker Willis

The Snowdrop Monument (In Lichfield Cathedral).

        Marvels of sleep, grown cold!
        Who hath not longed to fold
With pitying ruth, forgetful of their bliss,
        Those cherub forms that lie,
        With none to watch them nigh,
Or touch the silent lips with one warm human kiss?

        What! they are left alone
        All night with graven stone,
Pillars and arches that above them meet;
        While through those windows high
        The journeying stars can spy,
And dim blue moonbeams drop on their uncovered feet?

        O cold! yet look again,
        There is a wandering vein
Traced in the hand where those white snowdrops lie.
        Let her rapt dreamy smile
        The wondering heart beguile,
That almost thinks to hear a calm contented sigh.

        What s...

Jean Ingelow

Song.

"Sleep, like a lover, woo thee,
                    Isabel!
And golden dreams come to thee,
                    Like a spell
By some sweet angel drawn!
Noiseless hands shall seal thy slumber,
Setting stars its moments number,
                    So, sleep thou on!

The night above thee broodeth,
                    Hushed and deep;
But no dark thought intrudeth
                    On the sleep
Which folds thy senses now.
Gentle spirits float around thee,
Gentle rest hath softly bound thee,
                    For pure art thou!

And now thy spirit fleeth
                    On rare wings,
And fancy's vision seeth
                    Holy things
In its high atmosphere.
Music strange thy sense unsealeth,
And a voice to the...

Nathaniel Parker Willis

To Emma Abbott

There--let thy hands be folded
Awhile in sleep's repose;
The patient hands that wearied not,
But earnestly and nobly wrought
In charity and faith;
And let thy dear eyes close--
The eyes that looked alway to God,
Nor quailed beneath the chastening rod
Of sorrow;
Fold thou thy hands and eyes
For just a little while,
And with a smile
Dream of the morrow.

And, O white voiceless flower,
The dream which thou shalt dream
Should be a glimpse of heavenly things,
For yonder like a seraph sings
The sweetness of a life
With faith alway its theme;
While speedeth from those realms above
The messenger of that dear love
That healeth sorrow.
So sleep a little while,
For thou shalt wake and sing
Before thy King
When cometh the ...

Eugene Field

A Child Asleep

How he sleepeth! having drunken
Weary childhood's mandragore,
From his pretty eyes have sunken
Pleasures, to make room for more
Sleeping near the withered nosegay, which he pulled the day before.

Nosegays! leave them for the waking:
Throw them earthward where they grew.
Dim are such, beside the breaking
Amaranths he looks unto
Folded eyes see brighter colours than the open ever do.

Heaven-flowers, rayed by shadows golden
From the paths they sprang beneath,
Now perhaps divinely holden,
Swing against him in a wreath
We may think so from the quickening of his bloom and of his breath.

Vision unto vision calleth,
While the young child dreameth on.
Fair, O dreamer, thee befalleth
With the glory thou hast won!
Darker wert thou in the ...

Elizabeth Barrett Browning