Sleeping Muse

 

My muse she is leaning
Where once she did reap,
She halts at her gleaning
To weep.

My muse is desiring
The blessing of sleep,
In slumber retiring,
So deep.
Her toiling is finished,
She rests on her heap;
Her tide is diminished,
At neap.

Soft breezes sighing,
Just a last peep;
My muse is low-lying
Asleep.

1925