Come, Sleep! 03/04/2011
Astrophel and Stella XXXIX
BY Sir Philip Sidney (1554-1586)
Come, Sleep! O Sleep, the certain knot of peace,
The baiting-place of wit, the balm of woe,
The poor man's wealth, the prisoner's release,
Th' indifferent judge between the high and low;
With shield of proof shield me from out the prease
Of those fierce darts Despair at me doth throw!
O make in me those civil wars to cease;
I will good tribute pay, if thou do so.
Take thou of me smooth pillows, sweetest bed,
A chamber deaf to noise and blind to light,
A rosy garland, and a weary head;
And if these things, as being thine by right,
Move not thy heavy grace, thou shalt in me,
Livelier than elsewhere, Stella's image see.
Despite many late-night odes of my own, Sleep often refuses to cooperate. This week has been bereft of its balm of woe and knots of peace.
A teacher and reader who wants to practice writing--despite being a procrastinator and one of the slowest writers in the world.