O sleep, we are beholden to thee, sleep,
Thou bearest angels to us in the night,
Saints out of heaven with palms. Seen by thy light
Sorrow is some old tale that goeth not deep;
Love is a pouting child.

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Quote text and notes from Wikiquote: Jean Ingelow (page history), available under CC BY-SA 4.0. Source quality and labels are our own summary of what Wikiquote records.