The book is closed and sleep has come To lie beside me as I lay Thoughtless at the end of thoughtless day, A blessing of oblivion. I dropped the book that had told me: read, That had made a wonted offer As if neither knew the better: Knowledge is sorrow, living or dead. The mind too worn by day's report, The day too wronged by mind's own war, Apprehensions made real by fears That had lain still in latent thought Now wild as waking woes Ascend to startle sleep itself And mold from nothing nightmare's self; With silent step they come by ones: Wind at the casement inks with creaks What I had kept in lightest sketch, Through all the day of 'do' and 'fetch'- Wind at the casement makes bold and bleak. Pale and leery, alone in bed; Alone in bed, pale and leery, Unawake and lively-weary, I hear a tune that tums with dread. The untended hurt, pushed away By strong strife of mind all day Tweaks and twinges as I lay; A small voice says what it has to say.