Lull me to sleep, ye winds, whose fitful sound Seems from some faint Aeolian harp-string caught; Seal up the hundred wakeful eyes of thought As Hermes with his lyre in sleep profound The hundred wakeful eyes of Argus bound; For I am weary, and am overwrought With too much toil, with too much care distraught, And with the iron crown of anguish crowned. Lay thy soft hand upon my brow and cheek, O peaceful Sleep! until from pain released I breathe again uninterrupted breath! Ah, with what subtile meaning did the Greek Call thee the lesser mystery at the feast Whereof the greater mystery is death! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TWENTY-FOUR HOKKU ON A MODERN THEME by AMY LOWELL WISDOM COMETH WITH THE YEARS by COUNTEE CULLEN THEY HAVEN'T HEARD THE WEST IS OVER by JAMES GALVIN JAWEH AND ALLAH BATTLE by ALLEN GINSBERG A BIT OF SKY by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON TO NANNETTE FALK-AUERBACH by SIDNEY LANIER |