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To Sleep, Op. 94
par
John Keats
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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 passèd day will shine Upon my pillow, breeding many woes, - Save me from curious Conscience, that still lords Its strength for darkness, burrowing like a molе; Turn the key deftly in thе oilèd wards And seal the hushèd Casket of my Soul
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