John Hay

(8 October 1838 – 1 July 1905 / Salem, Indiana)


Poem by John Hay

Fly, poppied drowse, away!
Across the marshes sweep,
Chasing the fallen moon, the shadows gray;
Make me not laggard, Sleep!

Against the morning move,
Fronting the reddening miles!
Touch the white eyelids of the girl I love,
And fill her dreams with smiles.

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Read poems about / on: girl, moon, sleep, love, smile, dream

Poem Submitted: Saturday, January 4, 2003

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