The Song of Love's Nurse

O Moon! sleep, sleep thou, for this night
The cry 'O Lord!' upon thine ear shall smite;
Though formed, its purpose is yet hid from sight,
It shall be seen — the stars' potential might.
Thou'lt be the roast upon the spit of pain!

O Rosebud! sleep thou then this little while;
The Sphere's design against thee sooth is vile.
For pitiless is it and strong in guile;
Ah! never trust it, even though it smile.
Thou'lt have, I fear me, reason oft to plain!

O Love's Narcissus! sleep the sleep of peace!
Fall at the skirt of Fate and beg surcease;
Thy soul's eye ope — and, lo! thy fears increase!
Guard thee against the end of woe, nor cease.
Thou'lt be as plaything by Misfortune la'en!

Come, in the cradle of repose thee rest
A few short nights, by sorrow undistrest;
Bid care and all it brings leave thee unprest;
In place of milk, blood shall be thy bequest.
Thou'lt need the goblet of despite to drain!

O Jasmine-breast! within the cradle lie;
Thus will not long remain the rolling Sky:
The stars do not aye in one circle hie;
See what they'll do to thee, Love, by-and-bye.
Thou'lt be the mill on sorrow's torrent's train!

From slumber do not thou thine eyelids keep.
If aid can reach thee, it will come through sleep;
The Sphere will give a draught of poison deep.
Then will thy work, like Galib's, be to weep.
Thou'lt be the rebeck at the feast of pain!