I lay me down and slumber
And every morn revive.
Whose is the night-long breathing
That keeps a man alive?
When I was off to dreamland
And left my limbs forgot,
Who stayed at home to mind them,
And breathed when I did not?
[
]
For oh, ’twas never I.
If I were you, young fellow,
I’d save what brave breath I had,
For sleepers cut the waking:
Oh, spare your pains, my lad.
— I waste my time in talking,
No heed at all takes he,
My kind and foolish comrade
That breathes all night for me.