Verse > Anthologies > Hunt and Lee, eds. > The Book of the Sonnet
Hunt and Lee, comps.  The Book of the Sonnet.  1867.
VII. To Sleep
By John Keats (1795–1821)
O SOFT embalmer of the still midnight!
  Shutting with careful fingers and benign
Our gloom-pleased eyes, embowered from the light,
  Enshaded in forgetfulness divine,
O soothest Sleep! if so it please thee, close,        5
  In midst of this thine hymn, my willing eyes,
Or wait the amen, ere thy poppy throws
  Around my head its lulling charities;
  Then save me, or the passed day will shine
Upon my pillow, breeding many woes;        10
  Save me from curious conscience, that still lords
Its strength, for darkness burrowing like a mole;
  Turn the key deftly in the oiléd wards,
And seal the hushéd casket of my soul.

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