Robert Herrick

(1591-1674 / London / England)

To Music, To Becalm A Sweet Sick Youth

Poem by Robert Herrick

Charms, that call down the moon from out her sphere,
On this sick youth work your enchantments here!
Bind up his senses with your numbers, so
As to entrance his pain, or cure his woe.
Fall gently, gently, and a-while him keep
Lost in the civil wilderness of sleep:
That done, then let him, dispossess'd of pain,
Like to a slumbering bride, awake again.

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Read poems about / on: sick, pain, work, moon, sleep, lost, music

Poem Submitted: Tuesday, December 31, 2002