Poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Sleep

Lull me to sleep, ye winds, whose fitful sound
  Seems from some faint Aeolian harp-string caught;
  Seal up the hundred wakeful eyes of thought
  As Hermes with his lyre in sleep profound
The hundred wakeful eyes of Argus bound;
  For I am weary, and am overwrought
  With too much toil, with too much care distraught,
  And with the iron crown of anguish crowned.
Lay thy soft hand upon my brow and cheek,
  O peaceful Sleep! until from pain released
  I breathe again uninterrupted breath!
Ah, with what subtle meaning did the Greek
  Call thee the lesser mystery at the feast
  Whereof the greater mystery is death!

1. Something Left Undone
2. King Trisanku
3. Elegiac
4. Bishop Sigurd at Salten-Fiord
5. Seaweed

John Tabb Sleep ("When he is a little chap")

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