To Sleep by John Keats
O soft embalmer of the still midnight!
Shutting, with careful fingers and benign.
Our gloom-please’d eyes, embower’d from the light.
Enshaded in forgetfulness divine,
O soothest Sleep! if so it please thee, close,
In midst of this time hymn, my willing eyes.
Or wait the Amen, ere the 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 hoards
Its strength for darkness, burrowing like a mole;
Turn the key deftly in the oiled words,
And seal the hushed casket of my soul.
Now, stop it with the stupid camera and flash. Respect the sleep. [Insomniacs have NO respect for sleep.] I need my sleep, Go find something to do. Better yet, cuddle me!