Carl Dull
Insomnia
As Evening rests her weary head
Upon the soft and pillow'd night,
As proud Apollo flies to bed
And sheds his flaming mantle bright,
Then I sweet thoughtless peace deny
And still prolong this hopeless fight
As yet my weary, red-rimmed eyes
Seek answers in the opaque night.
Yet, as a pale and sickly flame
That by some silent breath is snuff'd
I hear Morpheus call my name,
and can resist no more- enough!
I give myself to weariness,
Though not without a touch of fear:
I catch a glimpse of emptiness
And Charon's silence chills my ear.
No thoughts of Hell now quell my heart,
But still, I fear the faceless ships
For dreamless seas will soon depart,
Where but the dip in Lethe's grip
Prophecies complete immersal:
And if life's a play for certain,
Then what is sleep but rehearsal
For the final falling curtain?