A STRANGE BOOK 353 Take, first, " Sleep." " For my Wife : " p. 3 :— " Sleep is a field, most level : Softness doth roam and revel In wind with velvet finger Over its grass, where linger Down of all birds of heaven Stillness of dawn and even. And level 'tis, because In its most smoothest pause, 'Tis canvass for intention Of heaven's most kind invention : For dreams more sweet than life Bears in day's coarser strife. Its levelness is kept By all Health's gardeners : swept By cleanness of all kinds. And by Strength's ruddy hinds : And molehills of old care Have on its lawn no share. But loving virtue's roller Is of that ground controller ; And conscience plucketh weeds When first they leave their seeds : Religion soweth grass Brighter than ever was. Then when the plane's complete, And when the night-times meet. Spirits of dream-land troop. Lay down the golden hoop, And in its limits fine Pour spiritual wine. Straightway the beds of slumbers Heave with plant-music's numbers, Z
