The Nymph Going to Bed

Come, sleep! take me, if you can, Into the garden where rivers ran, With flowers choking every inch, And all the visage seemed to flinch.

The trees, they bend as if to weep, In twilight’s sun, it’s time to sleep. Lull me, sweet-scented earth below, To softly rest where breezes blow.

The wings of night begin to soar, To find embrace on a silken floor. No wretched boy, nor weary maid, Would have the power to invade.

So close my eyes, on beauty fed, While night unfurls her gentle thread. And guards in sleep this quiet art, Root deep and true within my heart.

• Andrew Marvell