Counting Sheep

Half-awake I walked     A dimly-seen sweet hawthorn lane     Until sleep came;     I lingered at a gate and talked     A little with a lonely lamb.     He told me of the great still night,     Of calm starlight,     And of the lady moon, who'd stoop     For a kiss sometimes;     Of grass as soft as sleep, of rhymes     The tired flowers sang:     The ageless April tales     Of how, when sheep grew old,     As their faith told,     They went without a pang     To far green fields, where fall     Perpetual streams that call     To deathless nightingales.         And then I saw, hard by,     A shepherd lad with shining eyes,     And round him gathered one by one     Countless sheep, snow-white;     More and more they crowded     With tender cries,     Till all the field was full     Of voices and of coming sheep.     Countless they came, and I     Watched, until deep     As dream-fields lie     I was asleep.