  Not now for sleep, O slumber-god! we sue; Hypnus! not sleep, but give our souls repose! Of the day's music such a mellowing close As might have rested Shakespeare from his art, Or soothed the spirit of the Tuscan strong Who best read life, its passions and its woes, And wrought of sorrow earth's divinest song. Bring us a mood that might have lulled Mozart, Not stupor, not forgetfulness, not dreams, But vivid sense of what is best and rarest, And sweet remembrance of the blessed few; In the real presence of this fair world's fairest: A spell of peace—as 'twere by those dear streams209 Boccaccio wrote of, when romance was new. |
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