To Sleep

　　by John Keats

　　O soft embalmer¹ of the still midnight,

　　Shutting with careful fingers and benign² Our gloom-pleas'd eyes, embower'd from the light,

　　Enshaded in forgetfulness divine:

　　O soothest Sleep! if so it please thee, close

　　In midst of this thine hymn³ my willing eyes,

　　Or wait the amen ere thy poppy throws

　　Around my bed its lulling⁴ charities.

　　Then save me, or the passed day will shine

　　Upon my pillow, breeding many woes⁵;

　　Save me from curious conscience, that still lords

　　Its strength for darkness, burrowing⁶ like a mole⁷;

　　Turn the key deftly⁸ in the oiled wards⁹,

　　And seal the hushed casket of my soul.