Does the darkness cradle thee
Than mine arms more tenderly?
Do the angels God hath put
There to guard thy lonely sleep —
One at head and one at foot —
Watch more fond and constant keep?
When the black-bird sings in May,
And the Spring is in the wood,
Would you never trudge the way
Over hilltops, if you could?
Was my harp so hard a load
Even on the sunny morns
When the plumed huntsmen rode
To the music of their horns?
Hath the love that lit the stars,
Fills the sea and moulds the flowers,
Whose completeness nothing mars,
Made forgot what once was ours?
Christ hath perfect rest to give;
Stillness and perpetual peace;
You, who found it hard to live,
Sleep and sleep, without surcease.

Christ hath stars to light thy porch,
Silence after fevered song; —
I had but a minstrel's torch
And the way was wet and long.
Sleep. No more on winter nights,
Harping at some castle gate,
Thou must see the revel lights
Stream upon our cold estate.
Bitter was the bread of song
While you tarried in my tent,
And the jeering of the throng
Hurt you, as it came and went.
When you slept upon my breast
Grief had wed me long ago:
Christ hath his perpetual rest
For thy weariness. But Oh!
When I sleep beside the road,
Thanking God thou liest not so,
Brother to the owl and toad,
Could'st thou, Dear, but let me know,
Does the darkness cradle thee
Than mine arms more tenderly?