"Minds wiped calm as sea-leveled sands"

Child in the womb, Or saint on a tomb — Which way shall I lie To fall asleep? The keen moon stares From the back of the sky, The clouds are all home Like driven sheep. Bright drops of time, One and two chime, I turn and lie straight With folded hands; Convent-child, Pope, They choose this state, And their minds are wiped calm As sea-leveled sands. So my thoughts are: But sleep stays as far, Till I crouch on one side Like a foetus again — For sleeping, like death, Must be won without pride, With a nod from nature, And a lack of strain, And a loss of stature.

Philip Larkin. Via Maud Newton. Filed under: sleep.