Boyish Sleep

And all night long we lie in sleep,
 Too sweet to sigh in, or to dream,
Unnoting how the wild winds sweep,
 Or snow clouds through the darkness stream
Above the trees that moan and sign
 And clutch with naked hands the sky.
Beneath the checkered counterpane
 We rest the soundlier for the storm;
Its wrath is only lullaby,
 A far off, vast and dim refrain.