Chapter 49 No.49

"But, O my babe, thy lids are laid

Close, fast upon thy cheek,

And not a dream of power and sheen

Can make a passage up between;

Thy heart is of thy mother's made,

Thy looks are very meek,

And it will be their chosen place

To rest on some beloved face,

As these on thine, and let the noise

Of the whole world go on nor drow