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Poppy: 
CONSOLATION OF SLEEP. 
Ye know not what ye do, 
That call the slumberer back 
From the world unseen by you, 
Unto life’s dim faded track 
Her soul is far away, 
In her childhood’s land perchance, 
Where her young sisters play, 
Where shines her mother’s glance. 
Some old sweet native sound 
Her spirit haply weaves ; 
A harmony profound 
Of woods with all their leaves ; 
A murmur of the sea, 
A laughing tone of streams 5 
Long may her sojourn be 
Tn the music-land of dreams! 
Each voice of love is there, 
Each gleam of beauty fled ; 
Each lost one still more fair, — 
Oh! lightly, lightly tread. 
Mrs. HEMANS. 
























