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John Keats

(31 October 1795 – 23 February 1821 / London, England)

To Sleep


O SOFT embalmer of the still midnight!
Shutting, with careful fingers and benign,
Our gloom-pleas'd eyes, embower'd from the light,
Enshaded in forgetfulness divine;
O soothest Sleep! if so it please thee, close,
In midst of this thine hymn, my willing eyes.
Or wait the Amen, ere thy poppy throws
Around my bed its lulling charities;
Then save me, or the passed day will shine
Upon my pillow, breeding many woes;
Save me from curious conscience, that still hoards
Its strength for darkness, burrowing like a mole;
Turn the key deftly in the oiled wards,
And seal the hushed casket of my soul.

Submitted: Tuesday, December 31, 2002

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  • Rookie Emmanuel Ayala (2/15/2006 11:17:00 AM)

    A GREAT CLASSICAL POET! Who writes about one of the basic needs and wonders of life. This is what a great poet is capable of, Keats is an outstanding writer who's work will live until the end of time and after as well. (Report) Reply

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