To Sleep

O SOFT embalmer of the still midnight!

Shutting, with careful fingers and benign,

Our gloom-pleas'd eyes, embower'd from the light,

     Enshaded in forgetfulness divine;

O soothest Sleep! if so it please thee, close,

     In midst of this thine hymn, my willing eyes.

Or wait the Amen, ere thy poppy throws

     Around my bed its lulling charities;

     Then save me, or the passed day will shine

Upon my pillow, breeding many woes;

     Save me from curious conscience, that still hoards

Its strength for darkness, burrowing like a mole;

     Turn the key deftly in the oiled wards,

And seal the hushed casket of my soul.

(Written - 1819; Published - 1838)

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Analysis of To Sleep by John Keats