Sound Sleep

Some are laughing, some are weeping;

She is sleeping, only sleeping.

Round her rest wild flowers are creeping;

There the wind is heaping, heaping

Sweetest sweets of Summer's keeping.

By the corn-fields ripe for reaping.

There are lilies, and there blushes

The deep rose, and there the thrushes

Sing till latest sunlight flushes

In the west; a fresh wind brushes 10

Through the leaves while evening hushes.

There by day the lark is singing

And the grass and weeds are springing;

There by night the bat is winging;

There for ever winds are bringing

Far-off chimes of church-bells ringing.

Night and morning, noon and even,

Their sound fills her dreams with Heaven:

The long strife at lent is striven:

Till her grave-bands shall be riven 20

Such is the good portion given

To her soul at rest and shriven.

Poetry of Christina Rossetti - Complete Text

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