Sleep

Look in my eyes!--Oh, the mild and mysterious Deeps of thine eyes that are holy with rest!-- Sigh to me! yea, as thy kinsman, imperious Love, might, with lips that are soft and delirious, Soft with such comfort as blesses the blessed. Fold all my soul in the mild and mysterious Might of thy rest.

All the night for thy love, all the night! while the gladdening Presence of darkness, as legends of old, Wraps me in poesy: none of the saddening Prose of the day that is sad with the maddening Soul of unrest that is heartless and cold. All the night for thy love, all the night! and its gladdening Beauty of old.

Scorn is not thine nor is hate; but the bubbling Fountains of strength that are youthful as morn’s: Hurt is not thine of remembrance; nor troubling Sorrows of waking whose fingers keep doubling-- Pressing on temples life’s cares that are thorns. Thine are the hours of the stars and the bubbling Wells of the morns.

Pride and the passions and labors that worry us Mix with and brutalize; envy and spite Of the heart; and the griefs of the soul that oft hurry us On, with the iron of anguish, and bury us,-- Touch them and calm with thy fingers of white. Make all these passions and pains, that oft worry us, Night with the night.

Silence hath built thee a mansion, where flowery Fields of the visions are poppied with dreams; Where the high mountains of quiet loom showery Under the stars; and the valleys of bowery Lotus and moly gleam, misty with streams: Where slumber’s halcyon waters thrid flowery Pastures of dreams.

Come to me, Spirit!--Ah, wilt thou not stay for me? Stay for me! fill me with rest as with prayer! Mother of hope, let thy touch soothe away for me All of life’s weariness! make all the day for me Dim with forgetting! the day and its care! Come to me! Mix with the soul of me! Stay for me, Cure me like prayer!