Dickinson on sleeplessness.
Will there really be a morning?
Is there such a thing as day?
Could I see it from the mountains
If I were as tall as they?
Has it feet like water-lilies?
Has it feathers like a bird?
Is it brought from famous countries
Of which I have never heard?
Oh, some scholar! Oh, some sailor!
Oh, some wise man from the skies!
Please to tell a little pilgrim
Where the place called morning lies!
Awake in a giant night
is where I am
More brilliant bits in that poem:
I look out the window, there is night
I sit in this lighted room knowing this night
Night! Night! I wish you’d go so I could go
to the post office, the bank, the supermarket
Why aren’t they open at night? I wonder
Then realize I’m not the only person who’s
considered in the grand scope of daily living.