Poems (Cary)/Going to Sleep

For works with similar titles, see Going to Sleep.
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GOING TO SLEEP.
Now put the waxen candle by, Or shade the light away,And tell me if you think she'll die Before another day.She asked me but an hour ago, What time the moon would rise,And when I told her, she replied, "How fair 'twill make the skies."Then came a smile across her face, And though her lips were dumbI think she only wished to live Until that hour were come.And folding her transparent hands Together on her breast,She fell in such a tranquil sleep As scarce seems breathing rest.
Was that the third stroke of the clock; The hour is almost told.—Above yon bare and jagged rock Should shine the disk of gold. ​The moon is coming up—a glow Runs faint along the blueHow soft her sleep is! shall I call, That she may see it too?Nay, friend, she would not see the light, Though called you ne'er so loud,So bring of linen, dainty white, The measure of the shroud.The drowsy sexton may not wake, He must be called betimes,'T will take him all the day to make Her grave beneath the limesFor when our little Ellie died, The days were, oh, so long!And what with telling ghostly tales, And humming scraps of song,To school-boys gathered curiously About the bed so chill,I heard him digging till the sun Was down behind the hill.
Oh, do not weep my friend, I pray, This rest so still and deepKeeps all the evil things away That troubled once her sleep.
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