Lines suggested by a Wakeful Night.
Oh sleep, where art thou? I could chide thee now
That truant-like thou'rt absent from thy place;
Or e'en could call thee by a harsher name,
Deserter; yet I will not brand thee thus.
Oh! wherefore dost thou leave me? Haste and come,
That in thy presence I forget all else.
Except thou grant me from thy precious store
Some lovely dream of joy; that, like a child,
Lies folded to thy breast, but which thou canst