To Sleep
To Sleep
John Keats
O soft embalmer of the still midnight,
Shutting, with careful fingers and benign,
Our gloom-pleased eyes, embowered from the light,
Enshadowed in forgetfulness divine:
O soothest Sleep! if so it please thee, close
In midst of this thine hymn, my willing eyes,
Or wait the "Amen" ere thy poppy throws
Around my bed its lulling charities.
Then save me, or the passed day will shine
Upon my pillow, breeding many woes, —
Save me from curious Conscience, that still lords
Its strength for darkness, burrowing like a mole;
Turn the key deftly in the oiled wards,
And seal the hushed Casket of my Soul.
Verse breaks and indentation are preserved. Wrapped lines have a hanging indent. Width adapts to your screen.
Published 1838.
