Explore "Sleep" by James Weldon Johnson on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
O Sleep, thou kindest minister to man, / Silent distiller of the balm of rest, / How wonderful thy power, when naught else can, / To soothe the torn and sorrow-laden breast!
When bleeding hearts no comforter can find, / When burdened souls droop under weight of woe, / When thought is torture to the troubled mind, / When grief-relieving tears refuse to flow;
'Tis then thou comest on soft-beating wings, / And sweet oblivion's peace from them is shed;
But ah, the old pain that the waking brings!
That lives again so soon as thou art fled!
Man, why should thought of death cause thee to weep;
Since death be but an endless, dreamless sleep?