To Sleep

Sweet wooded way in life, forgetful Sleep! Dim, drowsy realm where restful shadows fall, And where the world’s glare enters not at all, Or in soft glimmer making rest more deep; Where sound comes not, or else like brooks that keep The world’s noise out, as by a slumberous wall Of gentlest murmur; where still whispers call To smileless gladness those that waking weep; Beneath the dense veil of thy stirless leaves, Where no air is except the calm of space, Vexed souls of men have grateful widow-hood Of tedious sense; there thoughts are bound in sheaves By viewless hands as silent as the place; And man, unsinning, finds all nature good.

Collection: 
English
Maybury Fleming

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