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1850–1931

WAKEFULNESS

John Lawson Stoddard

Drifting, idly drifting, where thought's varied streams Meet at last and mingle in the realm of dreams, Gladly would I join them in oblivion's deep! Sleep, so dear to me,

Sleep, come near to me, Sleep, sweet sleep! Toward the night's Nirvana groping for the way, Striving, ever striving to forget the day,

Waves of dreamless slumber, o'er my spirit creep! Sleep, so dear to me, Sleep, come near to me, Sleep, sweet sleep!

By the stream of Lethe, fettered to the brink, Longing for the breaking of the last, frail link, Eager for its billows o'er my mind to sweep, Sleep, so dear to me,

Sleep, come near to me, Sleep, sweet sleep! Waiting, ever waiting for thy soothing call, And the welcome darkness that envelops all,

If no more to waken, then no more to weep, Sleep, so dear to me, Sleep, come near to me, Sleep, sweet sleep!

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WAKEFULNESS · John Lawson Stoddard · Poetry Cove