XII. ΤΟ SLEEP. O GENTLE SLEEP! do they belong to thee, This tiresome night, O Sleep! thou art to me Now on the water vexed with mockery. XIII. TO SLEEP. FOND words have oft been spoken to thee, Sleep! away, Shall I alone, I surely not a man ungently made, Call thee worst Tyrant by which Flesh is crost? Still last to come where thou art wanted most! XIV. TO SLEEP. A FLOCK of sheep that leisurely pass by, Sleepless! and soon the small birds' melodies Must hear, first uttered from my orchard trees; Even thus last night, and two nights more, I lay, XV. THE WILD DUCK'S NEST. THE imperial Consort of the Fairy-king Of golden leaves inlaid with silver down, I gazed—and, self-accused while gazing, sighed XVI. 66 WRITTEN UPON A BLANK LEAF IN THE COMPLETE ANGLER." WHILE flowing rivers yield a blameless sport, Shall live thy name, meek Walton: Sage benign! To reverend watching of each still report O, nobly versed in simple discipline— Who found'st the longest summer day too short, Or down the tempting maze of Shawford brook Fairer than life itself, in this sweet Book, Are cowslip-bank and shady willow-tree; And the fresh meads-where flowed, from every nook Of thy full bosom, gladsome Piety! |