The New Monthly Magazine, Volume 40, Page 293
VIII.
Come to me, Sleep!
Come to me, gentle Sleep!
I pine, I pine for thee!
Come with thy spells, the soft, the deep,
And set my spirit free!
Each lonely burning thought
In twilight languor steep;
Come to the full heart, long o'erwrought—
O gentle, gentle Sleep!
Come with thine urn of dew,
Sleep, gentle Sleep!— but bring
No voice, love's yearnings to renew,
No visions on thy wing!
Come, as to folding flowers,
To birds, in forests deep;—
Long, dark, and dreamless be thine hours,
O gentle, gentle Sleep!
