Classic Poem

Sleepe, Silence' Child, sweet Father of soft Rest,
Prince, whose Approach Peace to all Mortals brings,
Indifferent Host to Shepheards and to Kings,
Sole Comforter of Minds with Griefe opprest;
Loe, by thy charming Rod all breathing things,
Lie slumbring, with forgetfulnesse possest,
And yet o're me to spred thy drowsie Wings
Thou spares, (alas) who cannot be thy Guest.
Since I am thine, O come, but with that Face
To inward Light which thou art wont to show,
With fained Solace ease a true felt Woe,
Or if, deafe God thou doe denie that Grace,
Come as thou wilt, and what thou wilt bequeath--
I long to kisse the Image of my Death.