Great poetry of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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To sleep by William Wordsworth

Fond words have oft been spoken to thee, Sleep!

And thou hast had thy store of tenderest names;

The very sweetest, Fancy culls or frames,

When thankfulness of heart is strong and deep!

Dear Bosom-child we call thee, that dost steep

In rich reward all suffering; Balm that tames

All anguish; Saint that evil thoughts and aims

Takest away, and into souls dost creep,

Like to a breeze from heaven. Shall I alone,

I surely not a man ungently made,

Call thee worst Tyrant by which Flesh is crost?

Perverse, self-willed to own and to disown,

Mere slave of them who never for thee prayed,

Still last to come where thou art wanted most!

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