Out of the sun’s way, hidden apart;
In a softer bed than the soft white snow’s is,
Under the roses I hid my heart.
Why would it sleep not? Why should it start,
When never a leaf of the rose tree stirred?
What made sleep flutter his wings and part?
Only the song of a secret bird.
From A Ballad of Dreamland by Algernon Charles Swinburne
From A Ballad of Dreamland by Algernon Charles Swinburne
