Sleep brings no joy to me,
⁠Remembrance never dies,
My soul is given to mystery,
⁠And lives in sighs.

Sleep brings no rest to me;
⁠The shadows of the dead,
My wakening eyes may never see,
⁠Surround my bed.

Sleep brings no hope to me,
⁠In soundest sleep they come,
And with their doleful imag'ry
⁠Deepen the gloom.

Sleep brings no strength to me,
⁠No power renewed to brave;
I only sail a wilder sea,
⁠A darker wave.

Sleep brings no friend to me
⁠To soothe and aid to bear;
They all gaze on how scornfully,
⁠And I despair.

Sleep brings no wish to fret
⁠My harassed heart beneath;
My only wish is to forget
⁠In endless sleep of death.

November 1837.