SELECTIONS IN ENGLISH POETRY
Thy sweet child Sleep, the filmy-eyed,
Murmur'd like a noontide bee,	25
'Shall I nestle near thy side?
Wouldst thou me?'—And I replied,
^4 No, not theeP
V
Death will come when thou art dead,
Soon, too soon—	30
Sleep will come when thou art fled;
Of neither would I ask the boon
I ask of thee, beloved Night—
Swift be thine approaching flight,
Come soon, soon !	35