Читать книгу Harper's New Monthly Magazine, Volume 1, No. 2, July, 1850. - Various - Страница 8

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 room's oppressive heat —

Steep me in oblivion deep,

That my weary, weary brain,

May have rest from all its pain;

Come, oh blessedness again, —

Come, soft sleep!

Come, soft sleep!

Let this weary tossing end,

Let my anguished watch be 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 may quiet drink,

And neither feel, nor know, nor think.

Come, soft sleep!