Come to Me, Gentle Sleep!

Come to me, gentle Sleep!
I pine, I pine for thee;
Come with thy spells, the soft, the deep,
And set my spirit free!
Each lonely, burning thought
In twilight languor steep--
Come to the full heart, long o’erwrought,
O gentle, gentle Sleep!

Come with thine urn of dew,
Sleep, gentle Sleep! yet bring
No voice, love’s yearning to renew,
No vision on thy wing!
Come, as to folding flowers,
To birds in forests deep--
Long, dark, and dreamless be thine hours,
O gentle, gentle Sleep!

1834.

‘The fretful stir
Unprofitable, and the fever of the world
Have hung upon the beatings of my heart;’