"Sleep," sings the Dark Minstrel at the center of things.
"Sleep beneath the cold dark Moon
and the golden lamp of Day;
hearken to the songs I sing
and cast upon the World's four winds
to seek each womam, child and man
upon dark and restless wings."
"Sleep," sings the Dark Minstrel
and plucks at the strings of the Universe:
"Sleep and wile the years away -
hearken to each note I play
that lulls the dreaming soul until
it sinks in sleep yet deeper still,
until over all the world
the musick of deep Sleep holds sway."
"Sleep," the dark and hooded Minstrel sings,
"and see what dreams Oblivion brings.
All the streams and forests sleep,
all the stars and mountains weep.
The cloth of Sleep is spun upon
a very old but well-oiled loom
and covers every dawn that breaks
and every mortal, golden Noon;
and at their tasks in home and field
all men to my song must yield,
for every little thing that creeps
falls beneath the spell of Sleep."
"Very seldom men awaken,
for if they do their souls are shaken
and all the years of dust are stripped
from their eyes like veils of mist.
Then everything is clothed in fire,
and there upon the world's bright pyre
the soul of mankind writhes and weeps
within the flames of waking Sleep."
"Sleep," sings the Dark Minstrel at the center of things.
"Sleep beneath the cold dark Moon
and the golden lamp of Day;
hearken to the songs I sing
and cast upon the World's four winds
to seek each womam, child and man
upon dark and restless wings."
The song of Sleep is dark and deep
and lulls the poet and the King;
the child, the housewife and the priest
must hearken to the song of Sleep.
All the nations of the world fall beneath the ancient spell
of the Minstrel ever-singing on his dark and ancient seat.
All the seas and planets slumber through the long, ensorcelled years,
wrapped within the woven fabric of the cloak the Minstrel wears.
"Sleep, and wile all Time away,"
sings the Minstrel on his Throne,
"hearken to each note I play
upon my harp of flesh and bone.
Sleep beneath the cold dark Moon,
and the golden lamp of Day."
"Sleep beneath the cold dark Moon
and the golden lamp of Day;
hearken to the songs I sing
and cast upon the World's four winds
to seek each womam, child and man
upon dark and restless wings."
"Sleep," sings the Dark Minstrel
and plucks at the strings of the Universe:
"Sleep and wile the years away -
hearken to each note I play
that lulls the dreaming soul until
it sinks in sleep yet deeper still,
until over all the world
the musick of deep Sleep holds sway."
"Sleep," the dark and hooded Minstrel sings,
"and see what dreams Oblivion brings.
All the streams and forests sleep,
all the stars and mountains weep.
The cloth of Sleep is spun upon
a very old but well-oiled loom
and covers every dawn that breaks
and every mortal, golden Noon;
and at their tasks in home and field
all men to my song must yield,
for every little thing that creeps
falls beneath the spell of Sleep."
"Very seldom men awaken,
for if they do their souls are shaken
and all the years of dust are stripped
from their eyes like veils of mist.
Then everything is clothed in fire,
and there upon the world's bright pyre
the soul of mankind writhes and weeps
within the flames of waking Sleep."
"Sleep," sings the Dark Minstrel at the center of things.
"Sleep beneath the cold dark Moon
and the golden lamp of Day;
hearken to the songs I sing
and cast upon the World's four winds
to seek each womam, child and man
upon dark and restless wings."
The song of Sleep is dark and deep
and lulls the poet and the King;
the child, the housewife and the priest
must hearken to the song of Sleep.
All the nations of the world fall beneath the ancient spell
of the Minstrel ever-singing on his dark and ancient seat.
All the seas and planets slumber through the long, ensorcelled years,
wrapped within the woven fabric of the cloak the Minstrel wears.
"Sleep, and wile all Time away,"
sings the Minstrel on his Throne,
"hearken to each note I play
upon my harp of flesh and bone.
Sleep beneath the cold dark Moon,
and the golden lamp of Day."
