Sleep
Who calls thee “gentle Sleep?” O! rare coquette,
Who comest crowned with poppies, thou shouldst wear
Nettles instead, or thistles, in thine hair;
For thou ’rt the veriest elf that ever yet
Made weary mortals sigh and toss and fret!
Thou dost float softly through the drowsy air
Hovering as if to kiss my lips and share
My restless pillow; but ere I can set
My arms to clasp thee, without sign or speech,
Save one swift, mocking smile thou ’rt out of reach!
Yet, sometime, thou, or one as like to thee
As sister is to sister, shalt draw near
With such soft lullabies for my dull ear,
That neither life nor love shall waken me!