Classic Poem

O sleep, O gentle child of the cool, still, shadowy Night, thou sick men's comforter, thou sweet oblivion of mortal woes that make our life so heavy and so harsh;
Oh! succour now my heart that pines and hath no rest, sustain these frail and weary limbs: fly to me, Sleep, and over me extend and stay thy dusky wings!
Where now is Silence that doth shun the day? And those light visions that with tremulous steps are wont to follow thee?
Alas! In vain I do invoke thee and in vain I flatter these dark cooling shades. O rugged hills of down! O harsh and bitter nights!