INVOCATION.
O, placid Death! O, lotos-circled king!
Parent of rest and endless slumbering!
With downy-sandalled pace approach me now,
And bathe my lips and palpitating brow
From flagons full of cool Lethean spray,
For I am weary of the light of day.
Or call to Sleep, thy mild dejected twin,
And when the rosy-fingered Morn shall rise,
Will ye aloft upon the healthy wind,
That blows from out her dewy balconies,
Waft me to those calm isles, whose tribes obey
Sky-fallen Saturn’s ever peaceful sway?