 | Poems (1872) |  |
246
SLEEP.
Care-charming Sleep, thou easer of all woes,Brother of Death! sweetly thy selfe dispose
On this afflicted Wight; fall like a cloud
In gentle showrs; give nothing yt is lowd,
Or painfull, to his slumbers: easy, sweet,
And like a purling wind, thou sonn of Night!
Passe by his troubled senses; sing his paine
Like hollow murmuringe windes, or silver raine:
Into his senses gently, O gently, slide,
And kisse him into slumber, like a Bride.
| Poems (1872) | |