O Sleep, thou kindest minister to man, Silent distiller of the balm of rest, How wonderful thy power, when naught else can, To soothe the torn and sorrow-laden breast! When bleeding hearts no comforter can find, When burdened souls droop under weight of woe, When thought is torture to the troubled mind, When grief-relieving tears refuse to flow; 'Tis then thou comest on soft-beating wings, And sweet oblivion's peace from them is shed; But ah, the old pain that the waking brings! That lives again so soon as thou art fled! Man, why should thought of death cause thee to weep; Since death be but an endless, dreamless sleep? | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TO AN INTRA-MURAL RAT by MARIANNE MOORE JOHNNY SPAIN'S WHITE HEIFER by HAYDEN CARRUTH A MAN'S VOCATION IS NOBODY'S BUSINESS by JAMES GALVIN MY DEATH AS A GIRL I KNEW by JAMES GALVIN THE MAN TO BE by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON AND SO, I THINK DIOGENES by AMY LOWELL SURFACES AND MASKS; 4 by CLARENCE MAJOR |