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The Promise of Sleep Put the sweet thoughts from out thy mind, The dreams from out thy breast; No joy for thee--but thou shalt find Thy rest All day I could not work for woe, I could not work nor rest; The trouble drove me to and fro, Like a leaf on the storm’s breast. Night came and saw my sorrow cease; Sleep in the chamber stole; Peace crept about my limbs, and peace Fell on my stormy soul. And now I think of only this,-- How I again may woo The gentle sleep-- who promises That death is gentle too. Amy Levy's other poems: Распечатать (Print) Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1282 |
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