Sleep is a god, too proud to wait on palaces,
And yet so humble too, as not to scorn
The meanest country cottages;
This poppy grows among the corn.
The Halcyon Sleep will never build his nest
In any stormy breast:
’Tis not enough that he does find
Clouds and darkness in their mind;
Darkness but half his work will do,
’Tis not enough; he must find quiet too.