Beneath the quiv'ring leaves, where shelter comes at last,
All sadness sinks to rest, or glides into the past;
Her sweet eyes prison'd now, in their soft silken bars,
O! my love, calm she sleeps beneath the trembling stars.

Ah! wake not yet from thy repose,
A fair dream spirit hovers near thee,
Weaving a web of gold and rose,
Through dream land's happy isles to bear thee!
Sleep, love, it is not yet the dawn,
Angels guard thee, sweet love, til morn!

Far from the noisy throng, by song birds lulled to rest,
Where rock the branches high by breezes soft carres'd;
Softly the days go on, by sorrow all unharm'd,
Thus may life be to thee a sweet existence charm'd.