Sleep

Life's angel half, sweet Sleep,

When, like the mermaid, thou

In all thy loveliness

Dost rise from out the deep

Where Life is foul to see—

Men wake to scheme and sin,

But thou dost keep them pure

In that sweet hour with thee.

The flower upon the hill,

Where caves and crags and peaks

Carry the thunder on

After the heavens are still,

Knows thee: as that cared flower

Within some sheltering wood,

And houses built by men,

And in a lady’s bower.

If Age hath followed Truth,

A conscience clean and pure

Is unto him as is

Sweet Innocence to Youth;

But Age and Innocence

Dost thou, sweet Sleep, reward:

Thou givest rest to both,

To both art recompense.