To Sleep by John Keats

To sleep

O soft embalmer of the still midnight,
Shutting, with careful fingers and benign,
Our gloom-pleased eyes, embowered from
the light,
Enshaded in forgetfulness divine:
O soothest Sleep! if so it please thee, close,
In midst of this thine hymn, my willing
eyes,
Or wait the «Amen», ere thy hoppy throws
Around my bed its lulling charities.
Then save me, or the passed day will
shine
Upon my pillow, breeding many woes, -
Save me from curious conscience, that still
lords
Its strength for darkness, bun-owing like a
mole;
Turn the key deftly in the oiled wards,
And. seal the hushed casket of my soul.