The Sleeper (By Edgar Allan Poe)

At midnight, in the month of June
I stand beneath the mystic moon
An opiate vapor, dewy, dim
Exhales from out her golden rim
And, softly dripping, drop by drop
Upon the quiet mountain top
Steals drowsily and musically
Into the universal valley.

The rosemary nods upon the grave
The lily lolls upon the wave
Wrapping the fog about its breast
The ruin molders into rest
Looking like Lethe, see! the lake
A conscious slumber seems to take
And would not, for the world, awake.

All Beauty sleeps!- and lo! where lies
(Her casement open to the skies)
Irene, with her Destinies
O, lady bright! can it be right
This window open to the night?

The wanton airs, from the tree-top
Laughingly through the lattice drop
The bodiless airs, a wizard rout
Flit through thy chamber in and out
And wave the curtain canopy
So fitfully- so carefully
Above the closed and fringed lid
'Neath which thy slumb'ring soul lies hid
That, o'er the floor and down the wall
Like ghosts the shadows rise and fall!

Oh, lady dear, hast thou no fear
Why and what art thou dreaming here
Sure thou art come O'er far-off seas
A wonder to these garden trees
Strange is thy pallor! strange thy dress
Strange, above all, thy length of tress
And this all solemn silentness!

The lady sleeps! Oh, may her sleep
Which is enduring, so be deep
Heaven have her in its sacred keep
This chamber changed for one more holy
This bed for one more melancholy
I pray to God that she may lie
For ever with unopened eye
While the pale sheeted ghosts go by!

My love, she sleeps! Oh, may her sleep
As it is lasting, so be deep
Soft may the worms about her creep
Far in the forest, dim and old,
For her may some tall vault unfold
Some vault that oft has flung its black
And winged panels fluttering back
Triumphant, o'er the crested palls
Of her grand family funerals
Some sepulchre, remote, alone
Against whose portal she hath thrown
In childhood, many an idle stone
Some tomb from out whose sounding door
She ne'er shall force an echo more
Thrilling to think, poor child of sin
It was the dead who groaned within.