Slowly, slowly, breathing deep —
Oh, to Sleep!
’Tis the wish of mine tonight.
Yet Sleep is strange and yields to flight —
A fleeting, flitting, Bird of Light.
Shine on Immortal Night!
From whence the hours come, and scarcely go,
With hands of Time so cruelly slow.
Faintly making pace —
While Sleep is shy
And hides her wary face.