SOFT hangs the opiate in the brain,
And lulling soothes the edge of pain,
Till harshest sound, far off or near,
...
We wreathed about our darling's head
The morning-glory bright;
Her little face looked out beneath
So full of life and light,
...
Here blooms the legend fed with time and chance,
Fresh as the morning, though in centuries old;
The whitest lily in the shield of France,
...