ONE Night all tyred wth ye weary Day, And wth my tedious selfe, I went to lay My fruitlesse Cares And needlesse feares Asleep. The Curtaines of ye Bed, & of mine Eyes Being drawne, I hop'd no trouble would surprise That Rest wch now Gan on my Brow To creep. When loe a little flie, lesse then its Name (It was a Gnat) with angry Murmur came. About Shee flew, And lowder grew Whilst I Faine would have scorn'd ye silly Thing, & slept Out all its Noise; I resolute silence kept, And laboured so To overthrow The Flie But still wth sharp Alarms vexatious Shee Or challenged, or rather mocked Mee. Angry at last About I cast My Hand. 'Twas well Night would not let me blush, nor see With whom I fought; And yet though feeble Shee Nor Her nor my Owne Wrath could I Command. Away She flies, & Her owne Triumph sings; I being left to fight with idler Things, A feebler pair My Selfe and Aire. How true A worme is Man, whom flies their sport can make! Poor worme; true Rest in no Bed can he take, But one of Earth, Whence He came forth And grew. For there None but his silent Sisters be, Wormes of as true & genuine Earth as He, Which from ye same Corruption came: And there Though on his Eyes they feed, though on his Heart They neither vex nor wake Him; every part Rests in sound sleep, And out doth keep All feare. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...LAUGHTER (YOUTH SPEAKS TO HIS OWN OLD AGE) by CONRAD AIKEN PROTESTS (AFTER A PAINTING BY HUGO BALLIN) by LOUIS UNTERMEYER ODE TO SPRING by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD CINQUAIN: THE WARNING by ADELAIDE CRAPSEY DEFEAT AND VICTORY by WALLACE RICE FEELINGS OF A REPUBLICAN ON THE FALL OF BONAPARTE by PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY |