Baby lies so fast asleep
That we cannot wake her:
Will the angels clad in white
Fly from heaven to take her?
Baby lies so fast asleep
That no pain can grieve her;
Put a snowdrop in her hand,
Kiss her once and leave her.
by Herman Melville
Sail before the morning breeze
The Sporads through and Cyclades
They look like isles of absentees—
Gone whither?
You bless Apollo's cheering ray,
But Delos, his own isle, today