Hello everyone. Welcome to this episode of Sleep and Relax ASMR. This episode we are whispering classic poetry from Oscar Wilde, D.H. Lawrence and Walt Whitman.

So what I'll be doing is just rotating, so to speak. So I'll read one from D.H.

Lawrence, then from Wald Whitman, then from Oscar Wilde. Not necessarily always in the same order, but just to give us a little bit of variety.

The first poem is titled Self-Biddy by D.H. Lawrence. I never saw a wild thing sorry for itself.

A small bird will drop frozen dead from above without ever having felt sorry for itself.

At the window by D.H. Lawrence.

The bindrains penned to listen to the autumn wind as it mutters something which sets the

black poplars a shake with hysterical laughter,

while slowly the house a day is closing its eastern shutters.

Further down the valley, the cluster tomstones recede winding, winding about their

dimness, the mists gray seraments after the street lamps in the darkness have suddenly started to bleed.

The leaves fly over the window and utter a word as they pass to the face that leans from the darkness, intent with

two dark-filled eyes that watch forever earnestly from behind the window class

by the Arno by Oscar Wilde.

The oleander on the wall goes crimson in the drawing a light.

Through the grey shadows of the night lie yet on Florence like a pall.

The dew is bright upon the hill and bright through the blossoms overhead, but ah, the grasshoppers have fled.

The little attic song is still.

Only the leaves are gently stirred by the soft breathing of the gale.

And in the almond-scented veil, the lonely Nightingale is heard.

The day will make these silence soon.

Oh Nightingale sing on for love, while yet upon the shadowy grove, splinter the arrows of the moon.

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