Oft have I thought the Muse was dead, Nor dreamed she ever needed sleep; And as a mother, when she sees Her child in slumber deep, Wakes it, to see one sign of breath -- So did I think of my love's death. Sleep, sleep, my love, and wake again, And sing the sweeter for your rest; I am too wise a parent now To think each sleep the last -- That you are dead for ever, love, Each time you sleep and do not move. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...OUR PRAYER OF THANKS by CARL SANDBURG RECESSIONAL (1) by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON TO THE SAME PURPOSE by THOMAS TRAHERNE ERRING IN COMPANY by FRANKLIN PIERCE ADAMS MONOTONOUS VARIETY by FRANKLIN PIERCE ADAMS TIME'S REVENGE by AGATHIAS SCHOLASTICUS |