Page:Flint and Feather (1914).djvu/101



What care I for the olive branch of Peace? Kind Sleep will bring a thrice-distilled release, Nepenthes, that alone her mystic hand Can understand.

And so she bends, this welcome sorceress, To crown my fasting with her light caress. Ah, sure my pain will vanish at the bliss Of her warm kiss.

But still my duty lies in self-denial; I must refuse sweet Sleep, although the trial Will reawaken all my depth of pain. So once again

I lift the curtain with a weary hand, With more than sorrow, silently I stand, Look out while darkness overspreads the way, And long for day.

"Go, Sleep," I say, "before the darkness die, To one who needs you even more than I, For I can bear my part alone, but he           Has need of thee.

"His poor tired eyes in vain have sought relief, His heart more tired still, with all its grief; His pain is deep, while mine is vague and dim,           Go thou to him.

"When thou hast fanned him with thy drowsy wings, And laid thy lips upon the pulsing strings