THOU art not always kind, O sleep: What awful secrets thou dost keep In store, and ofttimes make us know; What hero has not fallen low In sleep before a monster grim, And whined for mercy unto him; Knights, constables, and men-at-arms Have quailed and whined in sleep's alarms. Thou wert not kind last night to make Me like a very coward shake -- Shake like a thin red-currant bush Robbed of its fruit by a strong thrush. I felt this earth did move; more slow, And slower yet began to go; And not a bird was heard to sing, Men and great beasts were shivering; All living things knew well that when This earth stood still, destruction then Would follow with a mighty crash. 'Twas then I broke that awful hush: E'en as a mother, who does come Running in haste back to her home, And looks at once, and lo, the child She left asleep is gone; and wild She shrieks and loud -- so did I break With a mad cry that dream, and wake. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...WHEN THE SPEED COMES by ROBERT FROST COMIN' THRO' THE RYE by ROBERT BURNS NEW YORK CITY by MAXWELL BODENHEIM LADY GERALDINE'S COURTSHIP by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING ANTI-THELYPHTHORA by WILLIAM COWPER |