THE ROSE GERANIUM. 
61 
When night flings her mantle 
Of darkness around, 
And in calm, soothing slumber 
My senses are bound, 
In my dreams do I hear 
The sweet sound of thy voice, 
Which gently steals o’er me. 
And bids me rejoice. 
And again am I cheer’d 
By the glance of thine eye, 
Beaming lustrously bright 
As a star of the sky; 
But soon as the sun 
Melts the vapours of night, 
The vision fantastic 
Is borne from my sight. 
L. C. G. 
G 
