Life's angel half, sweet Sleep,
When, like the mermaid, thou
In all they loveliness
Dost rise from out the deep
Where Life is foul to see -
Men wake to scheme and sin,
But thou dost keep them pure
In that sweet hour with thee.

The flower upon the hill,
Where caves and crags and peaks
Carry the thunder on
After the heavens are still,
Knows thee: as that cared flower
Within some sheltering wood,
And houses built by men,
And in my lady's bower.

If Age hath followed Truth,
A conscience clean and pure
Is unto him as is
Sweet Innocence to Youth;
But Age and Innocence
Dost thou, sweet Sleep, reward:
Thou givest rest to both,
To both art recompense.

Yet thou hast awful power
When thou art lying still
And breathing quietly!
Was it not such an hour
Dark Murder slunk away,
Fearing thy innocence
More than the watchfulness
Of men in armed array?

Thou makest War to cease
Awhile, and armies pause;
And in the midst of strife
Thou bringest them to peace;
The tyrant must delay
The cruel deed at thy command;
Oppressed ones know thy balm
Can take their fears away.