Ah, Sleep, to me thou com'st not in the guise <br />Of one who brings good gifts to weary men, <br />Balm for bruised hearts and fancies alien <br />To unkind truth, and drying for sad eyes. <br />I dread the summons to that fierce assize <br />Of all my foes and woes, that waits me when <br />Thou mak'st my soul the unwilling denizen <br />Of thy dim troubled house where unrest lies. <br /> <br />My soul is sick with dreaming, let it rest. <br />False Sleep, thou hast conspired with Wakefulness, <br />I will not praise thee, I too long beguiled <br />With idle tales. Where is thy soothing breast ? <br />Thy peace, thy poppies, thy forgetfulness ? <br />Where is thy lap for me so tired a child ?<br /><br />Lord Alfred Douglas<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/to-sleep-6/
