SLEEP. Now that the charge is won, Sleep in the narrow clod; Now it is set of sun, Sleep till the trump of God. Sleep. Sleep. Fame is a bugle call Blown past a crumbling wall; Battles are clean forgot; Captains and towns are not: Sleep shall outlast them all. Sleep. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: EPILOGUE by EDGAR LEE MASTERS THE WORN WEDDING-RING by WILLIAM COX BENNETT TO A FAT LADY SEEN FROM THE TRAIN by FRANCES CROFTS DARWIN CORNFORD KEEP A-PLUGGING AWAY by PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR TACKING SHIP OFF SHORE by WALTER MITCHELL SONNET: 8 by WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE THE FLIGHT OF LOVE by PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY |