Night hath no wings, to him that cannot sleep; And Time seems then, not for to flie, but creep; Slowly her chariot drives, as if that she Had broke her wheele, or crackt her axeltree. Just so it is with me, who list'ning, pray The winds, to blow the tedious night away; That I might see the cheerfull peeping day. Sick is my heart; O Saviour! do Thou please To make my bed soft in my sicknesses: Lighten my candle, so that I beneath Sleep not for ever in the vaults of death: Let me Thy voice betimes i' th morning heare; Call, and I'le come; say Thou, the when, and where: Draw me, but first, and after Thee I'le run, And make no one stop, till my race be done | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE LOST LEADER by ROBERT BROWNING A LEGEND OF THE NORTHLAND by PHOEBE CARY I HEAR AMERICA SINGING by WALT WHITMAN RHODE ISLAND by CHARLOTTE FISKE BATES THE APOSTLE by PIERRE JEAN DE BERANGER |