Explore "To Sleep" by Olive Tilford Dargan on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
O silent lover of a world day-worn, / Taking the weary light to thy dusk arms, / Stealing where pale forms lie, sun-hurt and torn, / Waiting the balm of thy oblivious charms, / Make me thy captive ere I guess pursuit, / And cast me deep within some dreamless close, / Where hopes stir not, and white, wronged lips are mute, / And Pain's hot wings fold down o'er hushed woes. / And if ere morn thou choosest me to free, / Let it not be, dear jailer, through the door / That timeward opes, but to eternity / Set thou the soul that needs thee nevermore; / So I from sleep to death may softly wend / As one would pass from gentle friend to friend.