Tuesday, November 01, 2005

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
Or wait the «Amen», ere thy hoppy throws
Around my bed its lulling charities.
Then save me, or the passed day will
Upon my pillow, breeding many woes, -
Save me from curious conscience, that still
Its strength for darkness, bun-owing like a
Turn the key deftly in the oiled wards,
And. seal the hushed casket of my soul.

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