Naptime

O care-inventing child, why dost thou scream?
     Thou should'st not fret to quit a while thy toys.
Scornest thou not the chance to sweetly dream
     Whilst yet the sun his keenest beam employs.
No punishment is this; no, 'tis a gift
     From her that kisseth now thy weary head:
Receive it softly: let the sandman sift
     His timeless sands above thy person'd bed.
Too soon wilt thou a feeling as weary know
     When selfish Obligation will thy pleas
For peace ignore, and force thee to forgo
     A gentle sleep for half-awake unease.
Relish thy sleep before thou know'st too well
The stimulant that spoils the poppy's spell.

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