XII. ΤΟ SLEEP. O GENTLE SLEEP! do they belong to thee. This tiresome night, O Sleep! thou art to me Now on the water vexed with mockery. O gentle Creature! do not use me so, XIII. TO SLEEP. FOND words have oft been spoken to thee, Sleep! And thou hast had thy store of tenderest names; The very sweetest, Fancy culls or frames, When thankfulness of heart is strong and deep! Dear Bosom-child we call thee, that dost steep In rich reward all suffering; Balm that tames All anguish; Saint that evil thoughts and aims Takest away, and into souls dost creep, Like to a breeze from heaven. Shall I alone, I surely not a man ungently made, Call thee worst Tyrant by which Flesh is crost? Perverse, self-willed to own and to disown, Mere slave of them who never for thee prayed, Still last to come where thou art wanted most! XIV. TO SLEEP. A FLOCK of sheep that leisurely pass by, Dear mother of fresh thoughts and joyous health! XV. THE WILD DUCK'S NEST. THE imperial Consort of the Fairy-king XVI. WRITTEN UPON A BLANK LEAF IN "THE COMPLETE ANGLER. WHILE flowing rivers yield a blameless sport, To reverend watching of each still report Or down the tempting maze of Shawford brook- The cowslip-bank and shady willow-tree; And the fresh meads-where flowed, from every nook Of his full bosom, gladsome Piety! |