To Sleep

O tender sleep! queen over ev'ry queen! 
Our mother, since from thy deep womb we spring, 
And unto thee return, and to thee bring 
Our weary limbs and wearier hearts, and lean 
Upon thy breast; thou who hast pitying seen 
Our woe on earth, and blunted life's sharp sting, 
And when we were in trouble did so sing, 
That we forgot what was and what had been, — 

Open thy gentle arms and take me in; 
Hide me! oh, hide me in thy mother-breast, 
Between thy bosom sweet, and long, soft hair: 
Yea, let me from thee drink the milk of rest: 
Lay all my virtue level with my sin, 
So that I have no thought of days that were.