On Sleep
How wonderful is Sleep, with all its train
Of waking fancies, when the soul aspires
Above its mortal tenement, and wanders
Into those worlds unknown—its final goal!
And what is Death?—what, but a longer sleep,
In which the soul, like a young bird that oft,
Hopping from twig to twig, beyond its nest
Has for a season stray'd, and feebly dared
To try its natural element, at length
For a more venturous flight, with stronger wing,
Mounts—to return no more?
Of waking fancies, when the soul aspires
Above its mortal tenement, and wanders
Into those worlds unknown—its final goal!
And what is Death?—what, but a longer sleep,
In which the soul, like a young bird that oft,
Hopping from twig to twig, beyond its nest
Has for a season stray'd, and feebly dared
To try its natural element, at length
For a more venturous flight, with stronger wing,
Mounts—to return no more?
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