Sonnet Lxxiv. The Winter Night

'SLEEP, that knits up the ravell'd sleeve of care,' Forsakes me, while the chill and sullen blast, As my sad soul recalls its sorrows past, Seems like a summons bidding me prepare For the last sleep of death--Murmuring I hear The hollow wind around the ancient towers, While night and silence reign; and cold and drear The darkest gloom of middle winter lowers; But wherefore fear existence such as mine, To change for long and undisturb'd repose? Ah! when this suffering being I resign And o'er my miseries the tomb shall close, By her, whose loss in anguish I deplore, I shall be laid, and feel that loss no more!