O Sleep, come up the hollows of the night―
My temples throb for thy cool, restful touch;
My breast yearns for thy coming over-much;
Come up the purple spaces of Delight!
Come like the slow, soft pressure of the sea
Up tidelands ridged by her own lips at morn;
Steal, like still winds among the ripening corn,
Across the field Forgetfulness to me.
Breathe like a lotus lulled upon a stream;
Thrill like a heart-beat from the chastest love,
Or innocent rapture of a mating dove;
Oh, kiss my eyelids down, and let me dream!
“Sleep” as it appears in Higginson’s Four-Leaf Clover (1901).