WITHOUT SLEEP. 

A bed of coiled springs,
A pillow of soft down,
And a quilt around my shoulders, warm
In half bitten dreams,
Snatched sleep is solemn,
Kissing again the pillow,
Rather than the lips I am missing,
Amid the star shine,
Listening to the wild wind,
Come calling from the North,
Breaking the strange silence,
That is to us who try to sleep,
 The night,

When two cats growl,
And are heard,
Winning, rather like little Children.