(sonnet #'s CCXXII, CCXXIII)
# I
Sleep, thou fair figure of man's enemy,
And yet as well the sibling also said,
Aye, brother of that terror Death, whose dread
Has tormented so many souls that flee
His chilling clasp, art yet embraced as he
That sweet deliv'rance brings from day's griefs fled
For peace from, 'cept in dreams; as if thy bed
Is imaging some lasting rest so free.
Thou renewer of man's youth, when likened so
They still rejoicing greet, as if nightmares
Are not a part of thee. For such o'erthow
Delights and rest, more similar in scares
Indeed to thy vile "brother." Who does not know?
Men yet with lays entreat; men seek thy lairs.
# II
Men seek thy lairs. For snares indeed e'er lie
In thy dear arms Sleep, Death's near brother true.
'Twas "while men slept" that ill was done which few
Acknowledge, none in lays. I wonder why.
As if to reconcile ourselves, we try
T'escape our fears of that cold bed's "Adieu"
To life, by seeking peace in thee; pursue
"The image of my death," with glee we hie.
How cur'ous then, nay! proving kinship, yea,
God's Word calls men to now awake as t'were
From sleep! "Arise," He says, "from the dead...": day
E'er beckons, now is night. By Him bestir,
"...And Christ shall give thee life." Oh that we may
Not love thee, Sleep, nor thy dread brother's lure!
12Sep11