Sleep

by


    Lull me to sleep, ye winds, whose fitful sound
        Seems from some faint Aeolian harp-string caught;
        Seal up the hundred wakeful eyes of thought
        As Hermes with his lyre in sleep profound
    The hundred wakeful eyes of Argus bound;
        For I am weary, and am overwrought
        With too much toil, with too much care distraught,
        And with the iron crown of anguish crowned.
    Lay thy soft hand upon my brow and cheek,
        O peaceful Sleep! until from pain released
        I breathe again uninterrupted breath!
    Ah, with what subtile meaning did the Greek
        Call thee the lesser mystery at the feast
        Whereof the greater mystery is death!

0

facebook share button twitter share button google plus share button tumblr share button reddit share button email share button share on pinterest pinterest


Create a library and add your favorite stories. Get started by clicking the "Add" button.
Add Sleep to your own personal library.

Return to the Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Home Page, or . . . Read the next poem; Snow-Flakes

Anton Chekhov
Nathaniel Hawthorne
Susan Glaspell
Mark Twain
Edgar Allan Poe
Mary E. Wilkins Freeman
Herman Melville
Stephen Leacock
Kate Chopin
Bjørnstjerne Bjørnson