Classic Poem

Somnus—or Morpheus was his name?
I have forgot; I cannot keep
My schoolboy learning: as it came
It went—I mean the god of sleep.

That god and I were once fast friends,
But now his face I seldom see;
More oft the blessed rain descends
In Egypt, than his dews on me.

Ah me! the joy I had in dreams—
The nightly comfort to forget—
Is mine no more; the morning beams
On eyes like faded asters, wet:

Yes, moistened oft with poisonous tears,
Till the burnt lashes look so few,
You might suppose that threescore years
Were mine, instead of thirty-two!

Well, I can wait a little more,
A little longer wake and weep,
Until the welcome grave restore
The bliss of an unbroken sleep.

Let me remember Him that while
His tired disciples round Him slept—
(The sinless born, that knew no guile!)—
Watched in Gethsemane, and wept.