Sonett-Forum

Not to the fabled deities of old
I raise my invocation, but to Thee
Who givest sleep, and ever dost enfold
Those who its richness as great treasures see;

At this lone hour with favour give to me
That healthful balm, soft quieter of woe
Which, ah, too seldom gentlest sympathy
Its tears of agony bids cease to flow ;

Let me repose, a weary trav'ller, soon
No longer view yon misty struggling moon,
Hear melancholy rays through rain-drops fling,
But wrapt in kindly slumber eVry pow'r,
Renewed and strengthen for the morning hour,
When with creation join'd high praise I sing.