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Poem by Thomas Gent


Invocation to Sleep


Come, gentle sleep! thou soft restorer, come,
And close these wearied eyes, by grief oppress'd;
For one short hour, be this thy peaceful home,
And bid the sighs that rend my bosom rest.

Depriv'd of thee, at midnight's awful hour,
Oft have I listen'd to the angry wind;
While busy memory, with tyrant pow'r,
Would picture faded joys, or friends unkind.

Or tell of her who rear'd my helpless years,
But torn away, ere yet I knew her worth;
How oft, tho' nature still the thought endears,
Has my worn bosom heav'd its tribute forth.

Come, then, soft pow'r, whose balmy roses fall
As heavenly manna sweet, or morning dew;
Beneath thy wings, my troubled thoughts recall,
And, haply, lend them some serener hue. 



Thomas Gent


Thomas Gent's other poems:
  1. On a Delightful Drawing in my Album
  2. Prometheus
  3. On the Portrait of the Son of J.G. Lambton, Esq
  4. The Chain-Pier, Brighton
  5. Written in the Album of the Lady of Counsellor D. Pollock


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