noon, the rain did batter,
And it thundered like a hell:
I sighed, it is no matter,
At night I shall sleep as well.

But I longed with a madness tender
For an evening like the morn,
That my day might die in splendor,
Not folded in mist forlorn--

Die like a tone elysian,
Like a bee in a cactus-flower,
Like a day-surprised vision,
Like a wind in a summer shower.

Through the vaulted clouds about me
Broke trembling an azure space:
Was it a dream to flout me--
Or was it a perfect face?

The sky and the face together
Are gone, and the wind blows fell.
But what matters a dream or the weather?
At night it will all be well.

For the day of life and labor,
Of ecstasy and pain,
Is only a beaten tabor,
And I shall not dream again.

But as the old Night steals o'er me,
Deepening till all is dead,
I shall see thee still before me
Stand with averted head.

And I shall think, Ah sorrow!
The _might_ that never was _may!_
The night that has no morrow!
And the sunset all in gray!

Juliet laid her head on her hands and wept.

"Why should I not let him have his rosy sunset?" she thought. "It is all
he hopes for--cares for, I think--poor fellow! Am I not good enough to
give him that? What does it matter about me, if it is all but a vision
that flits between heaven and earth, and makes a passing shadow on human
brain and nerves?--a tale that is telling--then a tale that is told!
Much the good people make out of their better faith! Should _I_ be
troubled to learn that it was indeed a lasting sleep? If I were dead,
and found myself waking, should I want to rise, or go to sleep again?
Why should not I too dare to hope for an endless rest? Where would be
the wrong to any? If there be a God, He will have but to wake me to
punish me hard enough. Why should I not hope at least for such a lovely
thing? Can any one help desiring peace? Oh, to sleep, and sleep, and
wake no more forever and ever! I would not hasten the sleep; the end
will surely come, and why should we not enjoy the dream a little
longer--at least while it is a good dream, and the tossing has not
begun? There would always be a time. Why wake before our time out of the
day into the dark nothing? I should always want to see what to-morrow
and to-morrow and to-morrow would bring--that is, so long as he loved
me. He is noble, and sad, and beautiful, and gracious!--but would