Some are laughing, some are weeping; <br />She is sleeping, only sleeping. <br />Round her rest wild flowers are creeping; <br />There the wind is heaping, heaping <br />Sweetest sweets of Summer's keeping. <br />By the corn-fields ripe for reaping. <br /> <br />There are lilies, and there blushes <br />The deep rose, and there the thrushes <br />Sing till latest sunlight flushes <br />In the west; a fresh wind brushes <br />Through the leaves while evening hushes. <br /> <br />There by day the lark is singing <br />And the grass and weeds are springing; <br />There by night the bat is winging; <br />There for ever winds are bringing <br />Far-off chimes of church-bells ringing. <br /> <br />Night and morning, noon and even, <br />Their sound fills her dreams with Heaven: <br />The long strife at lent is striven: <br />Till her grave-bands shall be riven <br />Such is the good portion given <br />To her soul at rest and shriven.<br /><br />Christina Georgina Rossetti<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/sound-sleep-2/
