'SLEEP, that knits up the ravell'd sleeve of care,' <br />Forsakes me, while the chill and sullen blast, <br />As my sad soul recalls its sorrows past, <br />Seems like a summons bidding me prepare <br />For the last sleep of death--Murmuring I hear <br />The hollow wind around the ancient towers, <br />While night and silence reign; and cold and drear <br />The darkest gloom of middle winter lowers; <br />But wherefore fear existence such as mine, <br />To change for long and undisturb'd repose? <br />Ah! when this suffering being I resign <br />And o'er my miseries the tomb shall close, <br />By her, whose loss in anguish I deplore, <br />I shall be laid, and feel that loss no more!<br /><br />Charlotte Smith<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/sonnet-lxxiv-the-winter-night/
