All
are relaxing in their beds,
Whether
of hay or silk threads,
All
have drunk the sherbet of sleep,
In
the breast of night, many dreams creep,
In
the warmth of their mother’s love,
All
the youth are asleep by now,
If
I had mother and her lullaby,
Of
me, sleep mustn’t have been so shy,
O
God, with sleep kindly bless my nights,
So
I may too enjoy morns bright,
Though
the stars and moon are faraway,
I
have their company, anyway,
All
my wants for solitude have gone,
As
I grudgingly wait for the dawn.
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