Sonnet XC: To Oblivion

Forgetfulness! I would thy hand could close
These eyes that turn reluctant from the day;
So might this painful consciousness decay,
And, with my memory, end my cureless woes.
Sister of Chaos and eternal Night!
Oblivion! take me to thy quiet reign,
Since robb'd of all that gave my soul delight,
I only ask exemption from the pain
Of knowing "such things were"—and are no more;
Of dwelling on the hours for ever fled,
And heartless, helpless, hopeless to deplore
"Pale misery living, joy and pleasure dead:"
While dragging thus unwish'd a length of days,
"Death seems prepared to strike, yet still delays."