Poems of Anne Countess of Winchilsea 1903/An Invocation to Sleep
AN INVOCATION TO SLEEP
How shall I wooe thee gentle rest,
To a sad Mind, with cares opress'd?
By what soft means, shall I invite
Thy Pow'rs into my Soul to night?
Yett, Gentle sleep, if thou wilt come,
Such darknesse shall prepare the Room,
As thy own Pallace ouerspreads,
(Thy Pallace, stor'd with peacefull Beds)
And Silence too, shall on thee waite
Deep, as in the Turkish State; 10
Whilst, still as Death, I will be found,
My arms, by one another bound;
And my dull lidds, so clos'd shall be
As if allready seal'd by thee.
Thus, I'll dispose the outward part,
Wou'd I cou'd quiet too my Heart.
But, in its overburthen'd stead
Behold I offer thee, my head;
My head, I better can comand,
And that, I bow beneath thy hand; 20
Nor do I think, that heretofore
Our first great Father, gaue thee more,
When, on a flow'ry bank, he lay,
And did thy strictest Laws obey:
For, to compose his louely Bride,
He yielded not alone his side,
But, if we judge by the event,
Half of his heart too, with itt went,
Which, waken' d drew him soon away
To Eve's fair bosome, where itt lay, 30
Pleas' d to admitt his rightfull claim
And tending, still, tow'rds whence itt came.
Then, gentle sleep, expect from mee
No more then I haue proffer'd thee;
For, if thou wilt not hear my Pray'rs,
Till I haue vanquish'd all my cares,
Thou 'lit stay, 'till kinder Death supplys thy place,
The surer Friend, tho' with the harsher face.