Hide Me From Day's Garish Eye.

His Sleep Was Aery Light, From Pure Digestion Bred.

Hear All Ye Angels, Progeny Of Light, Thrones, Dominations, Princedoms, Virtues, Powers.

Was I Deceiv'd, Or Did A Sable Cloud Turn Forth Her Silver Lining On The Night?

For The Air Of Youth, Hopeful And Cheerful, In Thy Blood Will Reign A Melancholy Damp Of Cold And Dry To Weigh Thy Spirits Down, And Last Consume The Balm Of Life.

Heaven Open'd Wide Her Ever During Gates, Harmonious Sound, On Golden Hinges Moving.