The hours are passing slow, <br />I hear their weary tread <br />Clang from the tower, and go <br />Back to their kinsfolk dead. <br />Sleep! death's twin brother dread! <br />Why dost thou scorn me so? <br />The wind's voice overhead <br />Long wakeful here I know, <br />And music from the steep <br />Where waters fall and flow. <br />Wilt thou not hear sue, Sleep? <br /> <br />All sounds that might bestow <br />Rest on the fever'd bed, <br />All slumb'rous sounds and low <br />Are mingled here and wed, <br />And bring no drowsihed. <br />Shy dreams flit to and fro <br />With shadowy hair dispread; <br />With wistful eyes that glow, <br />And silent robes that sweep. <br />Thou wilt not hear me; no? <br />Wilt thou not hear me, Sleep? <br /> <br />What cause hast thou to show <br />Of sacrifice unsped? <br />Of all thy slaves below <br />I most have laboured <br />With service sung and said; <br />Have cull'd such buds as blow, <br />Soft poppies white and red, <br />Where thy still gardens grow, <br />And Lethe's waters weep. <br />Why, then, art thou my foe? <br />Wilt thou not hear me, Sleep? <br /> <br />ENVOY. <br /> <br />Prince, ere the dark be shred <br />By golden shafts, ere now <br />And long the shadows creep: <br />Lord of the wand of lead, <br />Soft-footed as the snow, <br />Wilt thou not hear me, Sleep!<br /><br />Andrew Lang<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/ballade-of-sleep/
