The Collected Poems of William H. Davies/Sleep

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SLEEP

Life’s angel half, sweet Sleep,When, like the mermaid, thouIn all thy lovelinessDost rise from out the deepWhere Life is foul to see—Men wake to scheme and sin,But thou dost keep them pureIn that sweet hour with thee.
The flower upon the hill,Where caves and crags and peaksCarry the thunder onAfter the heavens are still,Knows thee: as that cared flowerWithin some sheltering wood,And houses built by men,And in my lady’s bower.
If Age hath followed Truth,A conscience clean and pureIs unto him as isSweet Innocence to Youth; ​But Age and InnocenceDost thou, sweet Sleep, reward:Thou givest rest to both,To both art recompense.
Yet thou hast awful powerWhen thou art lying stillAnd breathing quietly!Was it not such an hourDark Murder slunk away,Fearing thy innocenceMore than the watchfulnessOf men in armed array?
Thou makest War to ceaseAwhile, and armies pause;And in the midst of strifeThou bringest them to peace;The tyrant must delayThe cruel deed at thy command;Oppressed ones know thy balmCan take their fears away.
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