Sleep
Eric Whitacre
The evening hangs beneath the moon,
A silver thread on darkened dune.
With closing eyes and resting head
I know that sleep is coming soon.
Upon my pillow, safe in bed,
A thousand pictures fill my head.
I cannot sleep, my mind's a-flight
And yet my limbs seem made of lead.
If there are noises in the night,
A frightening shadow, flickering light
Then I surrender unto sleep,
Where clouds of dream give second sight.
What dreams may come, both dark and deep,
Of flying wings and soaring leap
As I surrender unto sleep,
As I surrender unto sleep.
