Midnight
C. Gibbs
Light not one taper yet;
The tiniest gleam
Would break the reverie he keeps
With his long dream.
Dreams are above him,
Dreams in the midnight air
Weave sweet enchantments
That he cannot hear.
Yet, see, he stirs --
Or does the moonlight creep
With ghostly fingers
To disturb his sleep?
Nay, but go quietly
Through the half open door.
He is a dreamer
Who will wake no more.