Three Songs

O gentle Moon, the voice of thy delight
Falls on me like thy clear and tender light
Soothing the seaman borne the summer night
    Through isles forever calm;

O gentle Moon, thy crystal accents pierce
The caverns of my pride's deep universe,
Charming the tiger joy, whose tramplings fierce
    Made wounds which need thy balm.

O happy lark, that warblest high
  Above thy lowly nest,
O brook, that brawlest merrily by
  Thro' fields that once were blest,
O tower spiring to the sky,
  O graves in daisies drest,
O Love and Life, how weary am I,
  And how I long for rest.

  There is sweet music here that softer falls
    Than petals from blown roses on the grass,
  Or night-dews [on still waters between walls]1
    Of shadowy granite, in a gleaming pass;
  Music that gentlier on the spirit lies,
    Than [tir'd]2 eyelids upon [tirèd]3 eyes;
Music that brings sweet sleep down from the blissful skies.
        Here are cool mosses deep,
        And thro' the moss the ivies creep,
  And in the stream the long-leaved flowers weep,
And from the craggy ledge the poppy hangs in sleep.