Beneath the quiv’ring leaves, where shelter comes at last,

All sadness sinks to rest, or glides into the past;

Her sweet eyes prison’d now, in their soft silken bars,

O! my love, calm she sleeps beneath the trembling stars.

Ah! wake not yet from thy repose,

A fair dream spirit hovers near thee,

Weaving a web of gold and rose,

Through dream land’s happy isles to bear thee!

Sleep, love, it is not yet the dawn,

Angels guard thee, sweet love, til morn!

English words: S. J. O'Reilly   /   Music: Benjamin Godard, from his opera "Jocelyn", 1888