32 
THE SOUL OF OSIRIS. 
So she, my bride, my queen, 
So virginal, so keen, 
Swoons, while the moon-rays lean 
 To fan their silver ship. 
 
No sleep, but precious kisses 
In those pale wildernesses, 
 Mark the dead hours of night, 
No sleep so sweet as this is, 
Whose pulse of purple blisses 
 Beats calm and cool and light. 
No life so fair with roses, 
No day so swift to close is ; 
No cushion so reposes 
 Fair love so sweet and slight. 
 
Sleep greets the morn and takes us ; 
The wood that wonders makes us 
 Soft noises heard above. 
The sunny snake forsakes us, 
The noon sun lastly wakes us, 
 To watch the wooing dove ; 
And day draws on delighted 
To leave us there benighted, 
Once more divinely plighted 
 In perfect moon of love.