Last Nap in the Morning

That drowsiness more excellent than sleep— That haze of hibernation and content— Armies could march, and mighty whirlwinds reap The tumult of the skies, and clouds be rent By thunder charges, moaning trees be split From branch to crotch, yet still the muffled ear, Cocooned in warmth, would heed no part of it, But make quite certain that it could not hear.

MARTHA BANNING THOMAS