Two wandering angels, Sleep and Death, Once met in sunny weather: And while the twain were taking breath, They held discourse together. Quoth Sleep (whose face, though twice as fair, Was strangely like the other's, -- So like, in sooth, that anywhere They might have passed for brothers): "A busy life is mine, I trow; Would I were omnipresent! So fast and far have I to go; And yet my work is pleasant. "I cast my potent poppies forth, And lo! -- the cares that cumber The toiling, suffering sons of Earth Are drowned in sweetest slumber. "The student rests his weary brain, And waits the fresher morrow; I ease the patient of his pain, The mourner of his sorrow. "I bar the gates where cares abide, And open Pleasure's portals To visioned joys; thus, far and wide, I earn the praise of mortals." "Alas!" replied the other, "mine Is not a task so grateful; Howe'er to mercy I incline, To mortals I am hateful. "They call me 'Kill-joy,' every one, And speak in sharp detraction Of all I do; yet have I done Full many a kindly action." "True!" answered Sleep, "but all the while Thine office is berated, 'T is only by the weak and vile That thou art feared and hated. "And though thy work on earth has given To all a shade of sadness; Consider -- every saint in heaven Remembers thee with gladness!" | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...NATIONALITY by THOMAS OSBORNE DAVIS ST. ISAAC'S CHURCH, PETROGRAD by CLAUDE MCKAY A HYMN TO CONTENTMENT by THOMAS PARNELL IN SICKNESS (1714) by JONATHAN SWIFT THE IRISH MOTHER'S LAMENT by CECIL FRANCES ALEXANDER |