Goodnight, darling angel of mine heart o'er frets,

But I stand idly, not but silhouettes--

Dream of such that in the eye, no farther the heart might let them by.

On this bed-- this bed of not living sound-- lay peaced by imagination gathers round,

Where touch'd thine skin is but known.

No wander'd breath shown--

Unto light of thy star's sound keep,

Mine love lay under sleep.