06.05.2012, 11:47
Death
AS when with gladness at the hour of rest
The weary labourer quits the arduous field,
And soon with night his soul to sleep doth yield
To wake at morn with well-recruited zest;
So give, sweet Death, to me thy slumber blest,
With thy cool hand let my hot lids be sealed,
For now the clock the vesper hour has pealed,
The tardy sun has left the fading West,
And I am worn with hunger and with care;
And when, sweet Death, I've been for one short night
A dreamless guest in thy secluded halls,
With joy awaking will I greet the light
That from no earthly dawn about me falls,
And to my tasks with cheerful haste repair.
AS when with gladness at the hour of rest
The weary labourer quits the arduous field,
And soon with night his soul to sleep doth yield
To wake at morn with well-recruited zest;
So give, sweet Death, to me thy slumber blest,
With thy cool hand let my hot lids be sealed,
For now the clock the vesper hour has pealed,
The tardy sun has left the fading West,
And I am worn with hunger and with care;
And when, sweet Death, I've been for one short night
A dreamless guest in thy secluded halls,
With joy awaking will I greet the light
That from no earthly dawn about me falls,
And to my tasks with cheerful haste repair.