In a strange land The god of sleep Has made his house Of marvelous 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 Near about Where upon 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 They 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 Full of delight Sleep has his house