I long for a sweet and gentle sleep,
a sleep in which I do not weep.
So tired of relentless tears,
or facing endless fears.
Years have marred this face with cold disgrace,
only fantasy to embrace.
Just an hour of slumber;
or more without number.
Worst of dream is better than Day's best.
Rest, rest, all sorrow is suppressed.
My love is sweet gentle sleep,
where none do hear me weep.
9,8,7,6
Thanks for reading
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem