Invocation to Sleep, An

How shall I woo thee, gentle rest,
To a sad mind with cares oppressed?
By what soft means shall I invite
Thy powers into my soul to-night?
Yet, gentle sleep, if thou wilt come,
Such darkness shall prepare the room
As thy own palace overspreads
(Thy palace, stored with peaceful beds)
And silence too shall on thee wait,
Deep, as in the Turkish state;
Whilst still as death I will be found,
My arms by one another bound;
And my dull lids so closed shall be
As if already sealed by thee.
Thus I'll dispose the outward part.
Would I could quiet too my heart!
But, in its overburthened stead,
Behold I offer thee my head.
My head I better can command,
And that I bow beneath thy hand.
Nor do I think that heretofore
Our first great father gave thee more,
When on a flowery bank he lay
And did they strictest laws obey;
For, to compose his lovely bride,
He yielded not alone his side,
But, if we judge by the event,
Half of his heart too with it went,
Which, wakened, drew him soon away
To Eve's fair bosom, where it lay,
Pleased to admit his rightful claim
And tending still towards whence it came.
Then, gentle sleep, expect from me
No more than I have proffered thee;
For if thou wilt not hear my prayers
Till I have vanquished all my cares,
Thou'lt stay till kinder death supplies thy place,
The surer friend, though with the harsher face.
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