SLEEP, happy boy, there sleep, and take thy rest, Free from the passions which disturb my breast; Yet know 'tis Innocence that thee has freed, And lets thee sleep so quiet on this bed. Thy wearied limbs have sweetly rested here, If with less sun, in a more happy sphere; Whilst in despair my soul afflicted lies, And of mere envy to behold thee, dies. Dream, thou enjoy'st more true felicity, Than lavish fortune can bestow on thee; That thou amidst such precious gems art hurl'd, Are able to enrich th' insatiate world: That thou the Phoenix shalt transcend in fame, Who sleep'st, and risest, in a purer flame; That thou'rt an Angel, Heav'n's that lap I view: Yet all this while, it is no dream, but true. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE TEMERAIRE by HERMAN MELVILLE FOUR SONNETS: 3 by FRANK DAVIS ASHBURN BIFTEK AUX CHAMPIGNONS by HENRY AUGUSTIN BEERS PSALM 3. DOMINE QUID MULTIPLICATI by OLD TESTAMENT BIBLE GLENDEN'S DREAM by EMILY JANE BRONTE SONG OF THE CORN by JAMES EDWIN CAMPBELL ETERNITY OF LOVE PROTESTED by THOMAS CAREW TOWARDS DEMOCRACY: PART 3. OVER THE GREAT CITY by EDWARD CARPENTER TOWARDS DEMOCRACY: PART 3. THE BODY AND THE BOOK by EDWARD CARPENTER |