Sonnet LXXIV

"SLEEP, that knits up the ravell'd sleeve of care,"Forsakes me, while the chill and sullen blast,As my sad soul recalls its sorrows past,Seems like a summons bidding me prepareFor the last sleep of death—Murmuring I hearThe hollow wind around the ancient towers,While night and silence reign; and cold and drearThe darkest gloom of Middle Winter lours;But wherefore fear existence such as mine,To change for long and undisturb'd repose?Ah! when this suffering being I resignAnd o'er my miseries the tomb shall close,By her, whose loss in anguish I deplore,I shall be laid, and feel that loss no more!