I. <br />'Sleep, sleep on! forget thy pain; <br />My hand is on thy brow, <br />My spirit on thy brain; <br />My pity on thy heart, poor friend; <br />And from my fingers flow <br />The powers of life, and like a sign, <br />Seal thee from thine hour of woe; <br />And brood on thee, but may not blend <br />With thine. <br /> <br />II. <br />'Sleep, sleep on! I love thee not; <br />But when I think that he <br />Who made and makes my lot <br />As full of flowers as thine of weeds, <br />Might have been lost like thee; <br />And that a hand which was not mine <br />Might then have charmed his agony <br />As I another's--my heart bleeds <br />For thine. <br /> <br />III. <br />'Sleep, sleep, and with the slumber of <br />The dead and the unborn <br />Forget thy life and love; <br />Forget that thou must wake forever; <br />Forget the world's dull scorn; <br />Forget lost health, and the divine <br />Feelings which died in youth's brief morn; <br />And forget me, for I can never <br />Be thine. <br /> <br />IV. <br />'Like a cloud big with a May shower, <br />My soul weeps healing rain <br />On thee, thou withered flower! <br />It breathes mute music on thy sleep <br />Its odour calms thy brain! <br />Its light within thy gloomy breast <br />Spreads like a second youth again. <br />By mine thy being is to its deep <br />Possessed. <br /> <br />V. <br />'The spell is done. How feel you now?' <br />'Better—Quite well,' replied <br />The sleeper.--'What would do <br />You good when suffering and awake? <br />What cure your head and side?--' <br />‘What would cure, that would kill me, Jane: <br />And as I must on earth abide <br />Awhile, yet tempt me not to break <br />My chain.'<br /><br />Percy Bysshe Shelley<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-magnetic-lady-to-her-patient/
