FOND words have oft been spoken to thee, Sleep! <br />And thou hast had thy store of tenderest names; <br />The very sweetest, Fancy culls or frames, <br />When thankfulness of heart is strong and deep! <br />Dear Bosom-child we call thee, that dost steep <br />In rich reward all suffering; Balm that tames <br />All anguish; Saint that evil thoughts and aims <br />Takest away, and into souls dost creep, <br />Like to a breeze from heaven. Shall I alone, <br />I surely not a man ungently made, <br />Call thee worst Tyrant by which Flesh is crost? <br />Perverse, self-willed to own and to disown, <br />Mere slave of them who never for thee prayed, <br />Still last to come where thou art wanted most!<br /><br />William Wordsworth<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/to-sleep-5/
