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1770–1850

TO SLEEP

William Wordsworth

A flock of sheep that leisurely pass by, One after one; the sound of rain, and bees Murmuring; the fall of rivers, winds and seas, Smooth fields, white sheets of water, and pure sky;

I have thought of all by turns, and yet do lie Sleepless ! and soon the small birds’ melodies Must hear, first uttered from my orchard trees; And the first cuckoo's melancholy cry.

Even thus last night, and two nights more, I lay, And could not win thee, Sleep! by any stealth: So do not let me wear to-night away: Without Thee what is all the morning's wealth?

Come, blessed barrier betweenday and day, Dear mother of fresh thoughts and joyous health!

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TO SLEEP · William Wordsworth · Poetry Cove