Curtains have shaded the room. All round
Peace breathes, peace wafts,
But thought is audible, let nothing seek out
Beyond objects. Quiet, a child is asleep!

Quiet, the child is having its midday sleep.
The midday sun glitters in the mirror of the lakes,
The curtains' cool shade falls gently
On the face of the child, now that it's asleep

And its still unspoken prayer
Is carried by the flow of dram and the breeze of dream
Into the depths of the garden, and prayer clothes its bosom
With the experience of first perception

Of the child into whose breathing, it seems,
Heaven has descended, or let it be said,
That heaven asks to dwell in us,
And for longest of all in children

It tarries, remains and finds a space
Big enough for a nest - a habitation, a lodging,
In which all Elysium is agitated,
When a child is asleep.