_John Keats_.




XLV.

A sleep
Full of sweet dreams and health and quiet breathing.

_John Keats_.




XLVI.

Now is the blackest hour of the long night,
The soul of midnight. Now, the pallid stars
Shine in the highest silver and the wind
That creepeth chill across the sleeping world
Holdeth no hint of morning. I look out
Into the glory of the night with tired,
Wide, sleepless eyes and think of you. There is
The hush of some great spirit o'er the earth.
Here, in the silence earth and sky are met
And merged into infinity. Oh, God
Of all, Thou who beholdest Destiny
As simple, Thou who understandest life