In John Keats's sonnet "To Sleep," a speaker fervently prays to the personified figure of Sleep itself, begging for Sleep to bestow blissful unconsciousness on them—and quickly, before all the speaker's daytime worries can swoop in and spoil their rest. The poem's sensuous vision of drowsiness carries an undercurrent of anxiety: sometimes, the poem suggests, sleep is the only available escape from one's troubles. Keats composed the poem in 1819 but it didn't appear in print until 1838, when it was published posthumously in the Plymouth and Devenport Weekly Journal.
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1O soft embalmer of the still midnight,
2 Shutting, with careful fingers and benign,
3Our gloom-pleas'd eyes, embower'd from the light,
4 Enshaded in forgetfulness divine:
5O soothest Sleep! if so it please thee, close
6 In midst of this thine hymn my willing eyes,
7Or wait the "Amen," ere thy poppy throws
8 Around my bed its lulling charities.
9Then save me, or the passed day will shine
10Upon my pillow, breeding many woes,—
11 Save me from curious Conscience, that still lords
12Its strength for darkness, burrowing like a mole;
13 Turn the key deftly in the oiled wards,
14And seal the hushed Casket of my Soul.
1O soft embalmer of the still midnight,
2 Shutting, with careful fingers and benign,
3Our gloom-pleas'd eyes, embower'd from the light,
4 Enshaded in forgetfulness divine:
5O soothest Sleep! if so it please thee, close
6 In midst of this thine hymn my willing eyes,
7Or wait the "Amen," ere thy poppy throws
8 Around my bed its lulling charities.
9Then save me, or the passed day will shine
10Upon my pillow, breeding many woes,—
11 Save me from curious Conscience, that still lords
12Its strength for darkness, burrowing like a mole;
13 Turn the key deftly in the oiled wards,
14And seal the hushed Casket of my Soul.
O soft embalmer of the still midnight,
Shutting, with careful fingers and benign,
Our gloom-pleas'd eyes, embower'd from the light,
Enshaded in forgetfulness divine:
O soothest Sleep!
if so it please thee, close
In midst of this thine hymn my willing eyes,
Or wait the "Amen," ere thy poppy throws
Around my bed its lulling charities.
Then save me, or the passed day will shine
Upon my pillow, breeding many woes,—
Save me from curious Conscience, that still lords
Its strength for darkness, burrowing like a mole;
Turn the key deftly in the oiled wards,
And seal the hushed Casket of my Soul.
Select any word below to get its definition in the context of the poem. The words are listed in the order in which they appear in the poem.
A Brief Biography — Read the Poetry Foundation's biography of Keats.
The Poem Aloud — Listen to a reading of the poem.
Portraits of Keats — See some images of Keats from the collection of London's National Portrait Gallery.
Keats's Legacy — Visit the Keats Letters Project to find lively recent commentary on Keats's letters and poems.