Now the day 
Burns away. 
Most austere 
Night is here 
Time for sleep. 

And, to sleep, 
If you please, 
For release 
Into peace, 
Think of these. 

Snails that creep, 
Silver-slow; 
Streams that flow, 
Murmuring, 
Murmuring; 
Bells that chime, 
Sweet clear c-o-o-1; 
Of a pool 
Hushed so still 
Stars drowse there, 
Sleepy-fair; 
Of a hill 

Drenched with night, 
Drowned with moon's 
Lovely light; 
Of soft tunes, 
Played so slow, 
Kind and low, 
You sink down, 
Into down, 
Into rest, 

Into the perfect whiteness, 
The drowsy, drowsy lightness, 
The warm, clean, sleepy feathers of a 
slumbering bird's white breast.