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Charlotte Smith - Sonnet LIV.
Work rating: Low

THE SLEEPING WOODMAN. 
Written in April, 1790. 
YE copses wild, where April bids arise
The vernal grasses, and the early flowers;
My soul depress`d--from human converse flies
To the lone shelter of your pathless bowers.
Lo!--where the Woodman, with his toil oppress`d,
His careless head on bark and moss reclined,
Lull`d by the song of birds, the murmuring wind,
Has sunk to calm though momentary rest.
Ah! would `twere mine in Spring`s green lap to find
Such transient respite from the ills I bear!
Would I could taste, like this unthinking hind,
A sweet forgetfulness of human care,
Till the last sleep these weary eyes shall close,
And Death receive me to his long repose.
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