Sonnet 4

Come now coy sleep and close my bleary eyes.

 

Make me forget with subtle dreaming,

 

My slow decline and sad demise.

 

Blanket all my thoughts in feeling,

 

And lead me to that pure oblivion.

 

Cure me of this cruel disease,

 

That has no remedy in medicine.

 

Let me wonder where I please,

 

Unbound by shackles cast of thought,

 

Take my woes and figure out them,

 

Devoid of any form or plot.

 

For it is then and only then,

 

In the sweet strains of sleeps prelude,

 

That the horror, the horror! Feels almost subdued.