Poetry Archives

Softly, softly blow, ye breezes,
  Gently o’er my Edwy fly!
Lo! he slumbers, slumbers sweetly;
  Softly, zephyrs, pass him by!
    My love is asleep,
    He lies by the deep,
All along where the salt waves sigh.

I have cover’d him with rushes,
  Water-flags, and branches dry.
Edwy, long have been thy slumbers;
  Edwy, Edwy, ope thine eye!
    My love is asleep,
    He lies by the deep,
All along where the salt waves sigh.

Still he sleeps; he will not waken,
  Fastly closed is his eye;
Paler is his cheek, and chiller
  Than the icy moon on high.
    Alas! he is dead,
    He has chose his death-bed
All along where the salt waves sigh.

Is it, is it so, my Edwy?
  Will thy slumbers never fly?
Couldst thou think I would survive thee?
  No, my love, thou bid’st me die.
    Thou bid’st me seek
    Thy death-bed bleak
All along where the salt waves sigh.

I will gently kiss thy cold lips,
  On thy breast I’ll lay my head,
And the winds shall sing our death dirge,
  And our shroud the waters spread;
    The moon will smile sweet,
    And the wild wave will beat,
Oh! so softly o’er our lonely bed.