Sleep Poems | Best Poems about Sleep to Soothe Your Mind

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    Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening Poem by Robert Frost

    Whose woods these are I think I know.
    His house is in the village, though;
    He will not see me stopping here
    To watch his woods fill up with snow.

    My little horse must think it queer
    To stop without a farmhouse near
    Between the woods and frozen lake
    The darkest evening of the year.

    He gives his harness bells a shake
    To ask if there is some mistake.
    The only other sound’s the sweep
    Of easy wind and downy flake.

    The woods are lovely, dark and deep,
    But I have promises to keep,
    And miles to go before I sleep,
    And miles to go before I sleep.

     

     

    Insomniac Poem by Maya Angelou

    There are some nights when
    sleep plays coy,
    aloof and disdainful.
    And all the wiles
    that I employ to win
    its service to my side
    are useless as wounded pride,
    and much more painful.

     

     

    A Clear Midnight Poem by Walt Whitman

    THIS is thy hour O Soul, thy free flight into the wordless,
    Away from books, away from art, the day erased, the lesson done,
    Thee fully forth emerging, silent, gazing, pondering the themes thou
    lovest best.
    Night, sleep, death and the stars.

     

     

    Cat’s Dream Poem by Pablo Neruda

    How neatly a cat sleeps,
    sleeps with its paws and its posture,
    sleeps with its wicked claws,
    and with its unfeeling blood,
    sleeps with all the rings-
    a series of burnt circles-
    which have formed the odd geology
    of its sand-colored tail.

    I should like to sleep like a cat,
    with all the fur of time,
    with a tongue rough as flint,
    with the dry sex of fire;
    and after speaking to no one,
    stretch myself over the world,
    over roofs and landscapes,
    with a passionate desire
    to hunt the rats in my dreams.

    I have seen how the cat asleep
    would undulate, how the night
    flowed through it like dark water;
    and at times, it was going to fall
    or possibly plunge into
    the bare deserted snowdrifts.
    Sometimes it grew so much in sleep
    like a tiger’s great-grandfather,
    and would leap in the darkness over
    rooftops, clouds and volcanoes.

    Sleep, sleep cat of the night,
    with episcopal ceremony
    and your stone-carved moustache.
    Take care of all our dreams;
    control the obscurity
    of our slumbering prowess
    with your relentless heart
    and the great ruff of your tail.

     

     

    A Cradle Song Poem by William Blake

    Sweet dreams form a shade,
    O’er my lovely infants head.
    Sweet dreams of pleasant streams,
    By happy silent moony beams

    Sweet sleep with soft down.
    Weave thy brows an infant crown.
    Sweet sleep Angel mild,
    Hover o’er my happy child.

    Sweet smiles in the night,
    Hover over my delight.
    Sweet smiles Mothers smiles,
    All the livelong night beguiles.

    Sweet moans, dovelike sighs,
    Chase not slumber from thy eyes,
    Sweet moans, sweeter smiles,
    All the dovelike moans beguiles.

    Sleep sleep happy child,
    All creation slept and smil’d.
    Sleep sleep, happy sleep.
    While o’er thee thy mother weep

    Sweet babe in thy face,
    Holy image I can trace.
    Sweet babe once like thee.
    Thy maker lay and wept for me

    Wept for me for thee for all,
    When he was an infant small.
    Thou his image ever see.
    Heavenly face that smiles on thee,

    Smiles on thee on me on all,
    Who became an infant small,
    Infant smiles are His own smiles,
    Heaven & earth to peace beguiles.

     

     

    Sonnet Lxxxi Poem by Pablo Neruda

    And now you’re mine. Rest with your dream in my dream.
    Love and pain and work should all sleep, now.
    The night turns on its invisible wheels,
    and you are pure beside me as a sleeping amber.

    No one else, Love, will sleep in my dreams. You will go,
    we will go together, over the waters of time.
    No one else will travel through the shadows with me,
    only you, evergreen, ever sun, ever moon.

    Your hands have already opened their delicate fists
    and let their soft drifting signs drop away; your eyes closed like two gray
    wings, and I move

    after, following the folding water you carry, that carries
    me away. The night, the world, the wind spin out their destiny.
    Without you, I am your dream, only that, and that is all.

     

     

    After Apple Picking Poem by Robert Frost

    My long two-pointed ladder’s sticking through a tree
    Toward heaven still.
    And there’s a barrel that I didn’t fill
    Beside it, and there may be two or three
    Apples I didn’t pick upon some bough.
    But I am done with apple-picking now.
    Essence of winter sleep is on the night,
    The scent of apples; I am drowsing off.
    I cannot shake the shimmer from my sight
    I got from looking through a pane of glass
    I skimmed this morning from the water-trough,
    And held against the world of hoary grass.
    It melted, and I let it fall and break.
    But I was well
    Upon my way to sleep before it fell,
    And I could tell
    What form my dreaming was about to take.
    Magnified apples appear and reappear,
    Stem end and blossom end,
    And every fleck of russet showing clear.
    My instep arch not only keeps the ache,
    It keeps the pressure of a ladder-round.
    And I keep hearing from the cellar-bin
    That rumbling sound
    Of load on load of apples coming in.
    For I have had too much
    Of apple-picking; I am overtired
    Of the great harvest I myself desired.
    There were ten thousand thousand fruit to touch,
    Cherish in hand, lift down, and not let fall,
    For all
    That struck the earth,
    No matter if not bruised, or spiked with stubble,
    Went surely to the cider-apple heap
    As of no worth.
    One can see what will trouble
    This sleep of mine, whatever sleep it is.
    Were he not gone,
    The woodchuck could say whether it’s like his
    Long sleep, as I describe its coming on,
    Or just some human sleep.

     

     

    Quiet Girl Poem by Langston Hughes

    I would liken you
    To a night without stars
    Were it not for your eyes.
    I would liken you
    To a sleep without dreams
    Were it not for your songs.

     

     

    A Song Poem by William Blake

    Sweet dreams, form a shade
    O’er my lovely infant’s head!
    Sweet dreams of pleasant streams
    By happy, silent, moony beams!

    Sweet Sleep, with soft down
    Weave thy brows an infant crown
    Sweet Sleep, angel mild,
    Hover o’er my happy child!

    Sweet smiles, in the night
    Hover over my delight!
    Sweet smiles, mother’s smile,
    All the livelong night beguile.

    Sweet moans, dovelike sighs,
    Chase not slumber from thine eyes!
    Sweet moan, sweeter smile,
    All the dovelike moans beguile.

    Sleep, sleep, happy child!
    All creation slept and smiled.
    Sleep, sleep, happy sleep,
    While o’er thee doth mother weep.

    Sweet babe, in thy face
    Holy image I can trace;
    Sweet babe, once like thee
    Thy Maker lay, and wept for me:

    Wept for me, for thee, for all,
    When He was an infant small.
    Thou His image ever see,
    Heavenly face that smiles on thee!

    Smiles on thee, on me, on all,
    Who became an infant small;
    Infant smiles are his own smiles;
    Heaven and earth to peace beguiles.

     

     

    The Sad Mother Poem by Gabriela Mistral

    Sleep, sleep, my beloved,
    without worry, without fear,
    although my soul does not sleep,
    although I do not rest.

    Sleep, sleep, and in the night
    may your whispers be softer
    than a leaf of grass,
    or the silken fleece of lambs.

    May my flesh slumber in you,
    my worry, my trembling.
    In you, may my eyes close
    and my heart sleep.