Silvae V.4 (Mozley): To Sleep

O youthful Sleep, gentlest of the gods, by what crime or error of mine have I deserved that I alone should lack thy bounty? Silent are all the cattle, and the wild beasts and the birds, and the curved mountain summits have the semblance of weary slumber, nor do the raging torrents roar as they were wont; the ruffled waves have sunk to rest, and the sea leans against earth’s bosom and is still. Seven times now hath the returning moon beheld my fixed and ailing eyes; so often have the lights of Oeta and Paphos revisited me, so oft hath Tithonia passed by my groans, and pitying sprinkled me with her cool whip. Ah! how may I endure? Not if I had the thousand eyes of sacred Argus, which he kept but in alternate watchfulness, nor ever waked in all his frame at once. But now—ah, me!—if some lover through the long hours of night is clasping a girl’s entwining arms, and of his own will drives thee from him, come thence, O Sleep! nor do I bid thee shower all the influence of thy wings upon my eyes—that be the prayer of happier folk!—touch me but with thy wand’s extremest tip—’tis enough—or pass over me with lightly hovering step.