22 lines
883 B
Plaintext
22 lines
883 B
Plaintext
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1816
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TO SLEEP
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by John Keats
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O soft embalmer of the still midnight,
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Shutting with careful fingers and benign
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Our gloom-pleas'd eyes, embower'd from the light,
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Enshaded in forgetfulness divine:
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O soothest Sleep! if so it please thee, close
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In midst of this thine hymn my willing eyes,
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Or wait the amen ere thy poppy throws
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Around my bed its lulling charities.
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Then save me, or the passed day will shine
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Upon my pillow, breeding many woes;
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Save me from curious conscience, that still lords
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Its strength for darkness, burrowing like a mole;
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Turn the key deftly in the oiled wards,
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And seal the hushed casket of my soul.
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THE END
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