Sleep

Thy kiss is for the weary, child of God, - Gliding out of the dusk with silent feet Thro' fields of languorous poppies heavy-sweet Thou tell'st of lands wherein we have not trod, Thou leadest us thro' every longed-for clime, Thou blottest out the struggle and the strain, Thy veiled hand turning back the wheel of Time Makes youth's dream true, gives age its youth again. Thou conquorest time and distance and the grave: Clinging of dear ones' hands we find with thee, Glad garnering of the troublous years' increase, - Thou friend who comest unto price and slave With thine Archangel presence silently, And swaying of great wings, and a sweet peace.