Sonnet 27

She sleepeth! cease, thou noisy heart! to beat;
Let every step be silence—birds! be still;
Ye guardian spirits, on your pinions fleet,
Fly—hurry back the sun-light from the hill.
It were a sin to lose an hour so sweet:
Ungrateful not love's mandates to fulfil;—
Disturb her not—kiss gently, eager will,
Those lips—that brow—both love and beauty's seat.
But, as the trembling hand approach'd—afraid
To lift the silken veil that wrapt the maid,
She woke in beautiful emotioh,—threw
Three hundred flashes round her, each a ray
Of lightning—saw the youth—her eyes of blue
Melted—bent down—she whisper'd soft, "good day."