His Sleep Was Aery Light, From Pure

Hide Me From Day's Garish Eye, While The Bee With Honied Thigh, That At Her Flowery Work Doth Sing, And The Waters Murmuring With Such Consort As They Keep, Entice The Dewy-feathered Sleep.

Sable-vested Night, Eldest Of Things.

The Bird Of Jove, Stoop'd From His Aery Tour, Two Birds Of Gayest Plume Before Him Drove.

Who Aspires Must Down As Low As High He Soar'd.

What Hath Night To Do With Sleep?