To Sleep
by Philip Sidney (1554-1586)

Come Sleep, O Sleep, the certain knot of peace,
   The baiting place of wit, the balm of woe,
The poor man’s wealth, the prisoner’s release,
   The indifferent judge between the high and low;
With shield of proof shield me from out the prease
   Of those fierce darts, Despair at me doth throw:
Oh make in me those civil wars to cease;
   I will good tribute pay, if thou do so.
Take thou of me smooth pillows, sweetest bed,
   A chamber deaf to noise and blind to light,
A rosy garland, and a weary head;
   And if these things, as being thine by right,
      Move not thy heavy Grace, thou shalt in me,
      Livelier than elsewhere, Stella’s image see.

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