II. Lullaby
But must you sleep? The night is not so brave
With you awake. The shapes it takes are strange,
Too much a wail, too much a moated grange
Of toppling towers tumbling to the grave
Like beds. Wake, spirit. Shake your lovely head.
Your dropping eyelids wipe me from the world,
And it from me; the each from one is hurled
Upon your sneeze, and by a blink drops dead.
If you could know how all things cease to dance
When you turn your head, how the frozen sun
Still in the sky and sea hangs when you askance
Chance to look; what all things cease to be
When smiled on once and rapidly outrun;
You would not lie asleep, but look at me.