Edmund Clarence Stedman, ed. (1833–1908). An American Anthology, 1787–1900. 1900.

By Lewis FrankTooker

1240 Sleep

IN a tangled, scented hollow,

On a bed of crimson roses,

Stilly now the wind reposes;

Hardly can the breezes borrow

Breath to stir the night-swept river.

Motionless the water-sedges,

And within the dusky hedges

Sounds no leaf’s impatient shiver.

Sleep has come, that rare rest-giver.

Light and song have flown away

With the sun and twilight swallow;

Scarcely will the unknown morrow

Bring again so sweet a day.

Song was born of Joy and Thought;

Light, of Love and her caress.

Nothing’s left me but a tress;

Death and Sleep the rest have wrought—

Death and Sleep, who came unsought.