'Tis just the moment when time hangs in doubt
Between the parting and the coming day:
The deep clock tolleth twelve: and its full tide
Of swelling sound pours out upon the wind:
The bright cold stars are glittering from the sky,
And one of large light, fairer than the rest,
Looks through yon screen of leaf--deserted limes.

Not undelightful are the trains of thought
That usher in my midnights. Thou art there
Whom my soul loveth; in that calm still hour
Thy image floats before mine inward eye,
Placid as is the season, wrapt in sleep,
And heaving gently with unconscious breath;
While thy bright guardian watches at thy head,
Unseen of mortal, through the nightly hours,
Active against intrusion on thy mind
Of aught unholy: careful to preserve
The sanctuary of thy spirit swept and pure
For early worship when thine eyelids wake.
Sleep softly, and wake softly! may thy dreams
Be all of Heaven, as mine are all of Thee.