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.