From those burning galaxies seeking heaven only
In each other's eyes, and sigh, and sleep again;
For while they sleep they seem to forget the world's pain,
And when they wake, they dream....
'But other sleep was mine
As I had drunk of wine with bitter hemlock steep'd,
Or sousèd with the heapèd milky poppyheads
A drowsy Tartar treads where slow waters sweep
Over red river beds, and the air is heavy with sleep.
So, when I woke at last, the labouring earth had rolled