 | Poems (1806) |  |
3
ODE TO SLEEP,
COMPOSED DURING A VIOLENT ILLNESS, 1780.
I
The raven flaps his darksome wing;Around the shades of horror gloom:
The boding birds of midnight sing,
And seem to mark my coming doom!
O Sleep! my fever'd soul from spectres bear,
O guard me from the phantoms of despair.
4
II
Ah! what avails the downy bed,While mental sorrow sharpens pain:
With thee how blest in lowly shed,
His labour past, the vacant swain!
Flush'd with the bloom of health, no care he knows:
His evening-hours in early slumber close.
III
No pause from agony I own,Through all the watches of the night;
But on my restless pillow moan,
Each heavy hour, 'till morning light.
Once could I weep: but anguish, too severe,
Denies my stiffen'd eye-lids ev'n a tear!
IV
O thou, by whom the heart of woeIs freed from all its swelling sighs,
Who giv'st the wretch with joy to glow,
As fancy's faery scenes arise;
I ask not gilded visions of delight,
But save me, save me from yon beckoning sprite!
V
Come then, the oblivious balm diffuse,And bid the dread idea fly;
Ere death descend in freezing dews,
To film, alas! the darken'd eye:
Haste, haste, and listen to thy suppliant's prayer,
And, though death's image, to my bed repair.
5
VI
'Tis his the throbbing breast to still;'Tis his the burning lid to close:
Yet, ere the mortal numbness chill,
O seal my eyes in soft repose!
How sweet, thus lifeless, yet with life to lie;
Thus, without dying, O how sweet to die!
P.
| Poems (1806) | |