He is like a needlewoman Who deftly on a sable hem Stitches in gleaming jewels; Or, haply, he is like a hero, Whose bright deeds on the long journey Are beacons on our way. And when in the East comes morning, And the broad splendour of the sun, Then, with the tune of little birds Rings on high, the lamplighter Passes by each quiet house, And he puts out the lamps. I MET AT EVE I met at eve the Prince of Sleep, His was a still and lovely face, He wandered through a valley steep, Lovely in a lonely place. His garb was grey of lavender, About his brows a poppy-wreath Burned like dim coals, and everywhere The air was sweeter for his breath. His twilight feet no sandals wore, His eyes shone faint in their own flame, Fair moths that gloomed his steps before Seemed letters of his lovely name. His house is in the mountain ways, A phantom house of misty walls, Whose golden flocks at evening graze, And witch the moon with muffled calls. Upwelling from his shadowy springs Sweet waters shake a trembling sound, There flit the hoot-owl's silent wings, There hath his web the silkworm wound. Dark in his pools clear visions lurk, And rosy, as with morning buds, Along his dales of broom and birk Dreams haunt his solitary woods. I met at eve the Prince of Sleep, His was a still and lovely face, He wandered through a valley steep, Lovely in a lonely place. LULLABY Sleep, sleep, lovely white soul; The little mouse cheeps plaintively, The night-bird in the chestnut-tree-- They sing together, bird and mouse, In starlight, in darkness, lonely, sweet, The wild notes and the faint notes meet-- Sleep, sleep, lovely white soul. Sleep, sleep, lovely white soul; Amid the lilies floats the moth, The mole along his galleries goeth In the dark earth; the summer moon Looks like a shepherd through the pane Seeking his feeble lamp again-- Sleep, sleep, lovely white soul. Sleep, sleep, lovely white soul; Time comes to keep night-watch with thee, Nodding with roses; and the sea Saith "Peace! Peace!" amid his foam. "O be still!" The wind cries up the whispering hill-- Sleep, sleep, lovely white soul. ENVOI Child, do you love the flower Ashine with colour and dew Lighting its transient hour? So I love you. The lambs in the mead are at play, 'Neath a hurdle the shepherd's asleep; From height to height of the day The sunbeams sweep. Evening will come. And alone The dreamer the dark will beguile; All the world will be gone For a dream's brief while. Then I shall be old; and away: And you, with sad joy in your eyes, Will brood over children at play With as loveful surmise. * * * * * End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Collected Poems 1901-1918 in Two Volumes, by Walter de la Mare