In a strange land

The god of sleep

Has made his house

Of marvellous design

Under a hill

There is a cave

Which of the sun

May nothing have

So that no man

May know aright

The point between

The day and the night

So that inward

There is no light

And so to speak

Of that without

There stands no

Great tree there about

Whereupon might

Crow or magpie alight

To call or to cry

There is no cock

To crow the day

Neither beast which

Might noise make

Upon the hill

But all around

There is growing

On the ground

Poppy which bears

The seed of sleep

A still water

All the time

Is running over

The small stones

And it gives

Great desire

To sleep

To sleep



And thus full of delight

Sleep has his house