not by William Blake
Sleep, sleep, bright beauty,
Dreaming in the joys of night.
Sleep, sleep, in thy sleep
Little sorrows sit and cry.
Sweet babe, in they eyes
Soft desires I can trace,
Secret joys and secret smiles
Pretty little wiles of an infant.
As thy softest limbs I touch
Smiles as of the morning steal
O’er thy face and o’er thy breast,
Where thy little heart does lie.
O the cunning wiles that creep
In thy little sleeping heart!
When thy little heart wakes up
Then the dreadful night shall break.