“staring blindly into space / getting up to splash my face / wondering how much i can take”

For Poetry Monday—on an actual Monday this time:

To Sleep, William Wordsworth

A flock of sheep that leisurely pass by,
One after one; the sound of rain, and bees
Murmuring; the fall of rivers, winds and seas,
Smooth fields, white sheets of water, and pure sky;
I’ve thought of all by turns; and still I lie
Sleepless; and soon the small birds’ melodies
Must hear, first uttered from my orchard trees;
And the first Cuckoo’s melancholy cry.
Even thus last night, and two nights more, I lay,
And could not win thee, Sleep! by any stealth:
So do not let me wear to-night away:
Without Thee what is all the morning’s wealth?
Come, blessed barrier betwixt day and day,
Dear mother of fresh thoughts and joyous health!


I know, I know, Wordsworth of all poets—but this one hit home. In his 1807 Poems, this is the second of group of three sonnets about insomnia.

---L.

Subject quote from 25 or 6 to 4, Chicago.