Page:Lyrical Ballads (Coleridge).djvu/44



O sleep, it is a gentle thing
 * Belov'd from pole to pole!

To Mary-queen the praise be yeven She sent the gentle sleep from heaven
 * That slid into my soul.

The silly buckets on the deck
 * That had so long remain'd,

I dreamt that they were fill'd with dew
 * And when I awoke it rain'd.

My lips were wet, my throat was cold,
 * My garments all were dank;

Sure I had drunken in my dreams
 * And still my body drank.