To Sleep
The complete poetical works and letters of John Keats, 1819
O soft embalmer of the still midnight,Shutting, with careful fingers and benign,Our gloom-pleased eyes, embower'd from the light,Enshaded in forgetfulness divine:O soothest Sleep! if so it please thee, close,In midst of this thine hymn, my willing eyes,Or wait the amen, ere thy poppy throwsAround my bed its dewy charities;Then save me, or the passed day will shineUpon my pillow, breeding many woes;Save me from curious conscience, that still lordsIts strength for darkness, burrowing like a mole;Turn the key deftly in the oiled wards,And seal the hushed casket of my soul.