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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=540227" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>To Sleep</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=540227" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">FOND words have oft been spoken to thee, Sleep!<br>And thou hast had thy store of tenderest names;<br>The very sweetest, Fancy culls or frames,<br>When thankfulness of heart is strong and deep!<br>Dear Bosom-child we call thee, that dost steep<br>In rich reward all suffering; Balm that tames<br>All anguish; Saint that evil thoughts and aims<br>Takest away, and into souls dost creep,<br>Like to a breeze from heaven. Shall I alone,<br>I surely not a man ungently made, <br>Call thee worst Tyrant by which Flesh is crost?<br>Perverse, self-willed to own and to disown,<br>Mere slave of them who never for thee prayed,<br>Still last to come where thou art wanted most!</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><a href="http://poems.citatepedia.com/">poem</a> by <strong><a rel="author" href="http://authors.citatepedia.com/by.php?a=William+Wordsworth">William Wordsworth</a></strong></div>

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