Read "Battle Sleep" by Edith Wharton online for free on Textopian. Full text with search, annotations, highlights, and AI-powered reading aids.
Somewhere, O sun, some corner there must be / Thou visitest, where down the strand / Quietly, still, the waves go out to sea / From the green fringes of a pastoral land.
Deep in the orchard-bloom the roof-trees stand, / The brown sheep graze along the bay. / And through the apple-boughs above the sand / The bees' hum sounds no fainter than the spray. / There through uncounted hours declines the day / To the low arch of twilight's close, / And, just as night about the moon grows gray, / One sail leans westward to the fading rose.
Giver of dreams, O thou with scatheless wing / Forever moving through the fiery hail, / To flame-seared lids the cooling vision bring / And let some soul go seaward with that sail.