Three-thirty in the morning; now you sleep.
O precious being, oh, that sleep were me,
Secreted in your dreams away down deep
To push away all bad and sad things come,
Let only in the purest, brightest sum.
Oh, I can add, my dear, and heights I see
Of noble honestness, integrity,
Of moving mind molded to disobey
Foul orders of the State. Your thoughts, like day,
In spirit climb with independence, ply
True beauty through your character. It’s why
I yearn to lie in secret with your sleep,
For there would I discover rarest gold
To make us ever young and never old.