 | Poems |  |
THE SICK MAN'S PRAYER.
Come, soft sleep!
Bid thy balm my hot eyes meet;
Of the long night's heavy stillness,
Of the loud clock's ceaseless beat,
Of the weary thought of illness,
Of the chamber's airless heat,
Steep me in oblivion deep,
That my weary, weary brain,
May have rest from out its pain;
Come, O blessedness, again!
Come, soft sleep!
Bid thy balm my hot eyes meet;
Of the long night's heavy stillness,
Of the loud clock's ceaseless beat,
Of the weary thought of illness,
Of the chamber's airless heat,
360
That my weary, weary brain,
May have rest from out its pain;
Come, O blessedness, again!
Come, soft sleep!
Come, soft sleep!
Let this weary tossing end;
Bid my anguished watch know ceasing;
Yet no dreams thy steps attend,
When thou bring'st from pain releasing.
Fancies wild, to rest may lend
Sense of waking misery deep;
Calm as death, oh, on me sink,
That my brain but quiet drink,
And I neither know nor think.
Come, soft sleep!
Let this weary tossing end;
Bid my anguished watch know ceasing;
Yet no dreams thy steps attend,
When thou bring'st from pain releasing.
Fancies wild, to rest may lend
Sense of waking misery deep;
Calm as death, oh, on me sink,
That my brain but quiet drink,
And I neither know nor think.
Come, soft sleep!
| Poems | |