WHAT a strange lump of laziness here lies, That from the light of day bolts up his eyes! Thou look'st, when God created thee, as if He had forgot t' impart His breath of life. That th' art with seven sleepy Fiends possest, A man would judge, or that bewitcht at least. It is a curse upon thee, without doubt, And Heav'n for sin has put thy candles out. I could excuse thee, if this sloth could be Bred by the venom of infirmity; But 'tis in Nature's force impossible, Her whole corruption makes not such a spell, Though thou an abstract had'st ingrost of all Ills, and diseases apoplectical. Wer't thou not male, I should guess thee the bride Cut out of sleeping Adam's senseless side; But that I do this doubtful query find, Whether such sloth can spring from human kind? If so, thy Mother in conception, With wine, and dormice fed her embryon; Or, when he did the penitential deed, Thy drowsy Father voided Poppy-seed. I should believe th' had'st drunk in Lethe's deep, But that I see, th'ast not forgot to sleep. Sleep without end, which justifies the theme That thus informs, @3Man's life is but a Dream@1, Just such is thine; and since 'tis so profound, 'Tis well if thou wak'st at the Trumpet's sound. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...VIGNETTES OVERSEAS: 7. ROME by SARA TEASDALE MUSIC AND MEMORY by JOHN ALBEE THE BLACK REGIMENT by GEORGE HENRY BOKER BINGEN ON THE RHINE by CAROLINE ELIZABETH SARAH SHERIDAN NORTON AS THE TEAM'S HEAD BRASS by PHILIP EDWARD THOMAS A SWING SONG by WILLIAM ALLINGHAM |