| |
| SLEEP on, sleep on, ye resting dead; | |
| The grass is o’er ye growing | |
| In dewy greenness. Ever fled | |
| From you hath Care; and, in its stead, | |
| Peace hath with you its dwelling made, | 5 |
| Where tears do cease from flowing. | |
| Sleep on! | |
| |
| Sleep on, sleep on: Ye do not feel | |
| Life’s ever-burning fever— | |
| Nor scorn that sears, nor pains that steel | 10 |
| And blanch the loving heart, until | |
| ’Tis like the bed of mountain-rill | |
| Which waves have left for ever! | |
| Sleep on! | |
| |
| Sleep on, sleep on: Your couch is made | 15 |
| Upon your mother’s bosom; | |
| Yea, and your peaceful lonely bed | |
| Is all with sweet wild-flowers inlaid; | |
| And over each earth-pillowed head | |
| The hand of Nature strews them. | 20 |
| Sleep on! | |
| |
| Sleep on, sleep on: I would I were | |
| At rest within your dwelling,— | |
| No more to feel, no more to bear | |
| The world’s falsehood and its care— | 25 |
| The arrows it doth never spare | |
| On him whose feet are failing. | |
| Sleep on! | |
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