Sound Sleep
Some are laughing, some are weeping;She is sleeping, only sleeping.Round her rest wild flowers are creeping;There the wind is heaping, heapingSweetest sweets of Summer’s keeping.By the corn-fields ripe for reaping.
There are lilies, and there blushes The deep rose, and there the thrushes Sing till latest sunlight flushes In the west; a fresh wind brushes 10 Through the leaves while evening hushes.
There by day the lark is singingAnd the grass and weeds are springing;There by night the bat is winging;There for ever winds are bringingFar-off chimes of church-bells ringing.
Night and morning, noon and even, Their sound fills her dreams with Heaven: The long strife at lent is striven: Till her grave-bands shall be riven 20 Such is the good portion given To her soul at rest and shriven.