The Complaint
Tired nature's sweet restorer; blamy Sleep!
He, like the World his ready visit pays,
Where Fortune smiles; the wretched he forsakes:
Swift on his downy pinion flies from Woe,
And lights on Lids unsullied with a Tear.
From short, (as usual) as disturbed Repose,
I wake: How happy they who wake no more!
Tired nature's sweet restorer; blamy Sleep!
He, like the World his ready visit pays,
Where Fortune smiles; the wretched he forsakes:
Swift on his downy pinion flies from Woe,
And lights on Lids unsullied with a Tear.
From short, (as usual) as disturbed Repose,
I wake: How happy they who wake no more!