Xxxviii

Deep silence reigns--it seems to me Sleep comes to mine eyes, resting, As does a bird come to its mate In their home softly nesting.

The night’s soft bed is ready made-- The heavens, with stars covered. Maybe that some heart will forget For what this day it suffered.

Maybe that some heart will forget, And if it found no treasure, Maybe it finds it in its dream And with it finds its pleasure.