Century of Roundels — Sleep

SLEEP.

SLEEP, when a soul that her own clouds cover Wails that sorrow should always keep Watch, nor see in the gloom above her Sleep, Down, through darkness naked and steep, Sinks, and the gifts of his grace recover Soon the soul, though her wound be deep.

God beloved of us, all men’s lover, All most weary that smile or weep Feel thee afar or anear them hover, Sleep.

ON AN OLD ROUNDEL

_TRANSLATED BY D.

C. ROSSETTI FROM THE FRENCH OF VILLON_.

I.

DEATH, from thy rigour a voice appealed, And men still hear what the sweet cry saith, Crying aloud in thine ears fast sealed, Death.