To Sleep

　　by John Keats

　　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 lords

　　Its strength for darkness, burrowing like a mole;

　　Turn the key deftly in the oiled wards,

　　And seal the hushed casket of my soul.