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Sleep.
By James Whitcomb Riley
Orphaned, I cry to thee:
Sweet sleep! O kneel and be
A mother unto me!
Calm thou my childish fears:
Fold - fold mine eyelids to, all tenderly,
And dry my tears.
Come, Sleep, all drowsy-eyed
And faint with languor, - slide
Thy dim face down beside
Mine own, and let me rest
And nestle in thy heart, and there abide,
A favored guest.
Good night to every care,
And shadow of despair!
Good night to all things where
Within is no delight! -
Sleep opens her dark arms, and, swooning there,
I sob: Good night - good night!
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