Oh, for the time when I shall sleep without identity,
And never care how rain may steep, or snow may cover me!
No promised heaven these wild desires could all, or half, fulful;
No threatened hell, with quenchless fires, subdue this quenchless will!

So said I, and still say the same; still, to my death, will say—
Three gods within this little frame are warring night and day:
Heaven could not hold them all, and yet they all are held in me;
And must be mine till I forget my present entity!

Oh, for the time when in my breast their struggles will be o'er!
Oh, for the day when I shall rest, and never suffer more!

Emily Bronte - "When I Shall Sleep"