SLEEP
His pow'rs the most voluptuously dissolve
In soft repose; on him the balmy dews
Of Sleep with double nutriment descend.
Armstrong—The Art of Preserving Health. Bk. III. L. 385.
When the sheep are in the fauld, and a' the kye
at hame,
And all the weary world to sleep are gane.
Lady Ann Barnard—Avid Robin Gray.
Still believe that ever round you
Spirits float who watch and wait;
Nor forget the twain who found you
Sleeping nigh the Golden Gate.
Besant and Rice—Case of Mr. Luaraft and
other Tales. P. 92. (Ed. 1877)
| seealso = (See also Morris)
| topic = Sleep
| page = 717
}}
{{Hoyt quote
| num =
| text = <poem>Since the Brother of Death daily haunts us
with dying mementoes.
Sir Thomas Browne—Hydriotaphia. Same
idea in Butler
| work = Anatomy of Melancholy.
| place =
P. 107. (Ed. 1849) Also, in an old French
poet Racan.
Sleep is a death, O make me try,
By sleeping, what it is to die:
And as gently lay my head
On my grave, as now my bed.
Sir Thomas Browne—Beligio Medici. Pt. II. Sec. XII.
| seealso = (See also Daniel, Fletcher, Homer, Ovid,
Sackville, Cymbeline, Macbeth, Shelley, Spenser, Vergil)
{{Hoyt quote
| num = 5
| text = How he sleepeth! having drunken
Weary childhood's mandragore,
From his pretty eyes have sunken
Pleasures to make room for more—
Sleeping near the withered nosegay which he
pulled the day before.
E. B. Browning—A Child Asleep.
Of all the thoughts of God that are
Borne inward unto souls afar,
Along the Psalmist's music deep,
Now tell me if that any is.
Forgift or grace, surpassing this—
"He giveth His beloved sleep."
E. B. Browning—The Sleep.
Sleep on, Baby, on the floor,
Tired of all the playing,
Sleep with smile the sweeter for
That you dropped away in!
On your curls' full roundness stand
Golden lights serenely—
One cheek, pushed out by the hand,
Folds the dimple inly.
E. B. Browning—Sleeping and Watching
Sleep hath its own world,
A boundary between the things misnamed
Death and existence: Sleep hath its own world,
And a wide realm of wild reality,
And dreams in their development have breath,
And tears, and tortures, and the touch of joy.
| author = Byron
| work = The Dream. St. 1.
SLEEP
Now, blessings light on him that first invented
this same sleep! it covers a man all over, thoughts
and all, like a cloak; it is meat for the hungry,
drink for the thirsty, heat for the cold, and cold
for the hot. It is the current coin that purchases
all the pleasures of the world cheap: and the balance that sets the king and the shepherd, the fool
and the wise man, even. There is only one thing,
which somebody once put into my head, that I
dislike in sleep; it is, that it resembles death; there
is very little difference between a man in his first
sleep, and a man in his last sleep.
| author = Cervantes
| work = Don Quixote.
| place = Pt. II. Ch.
LXVIII.
| seealso = (See also Saxe)
| topic = Sleep
| page = 717
}}
{{Hoyt quote
| num =
| text = <poem>It is not good a sleping hound to wake.
Chaucer—Troilus. I. 640. Wake not a
sleeping lion. The Countryman's New Commonwealth. (1647) Esveiller le chat qui
dort. Rabelais—Pantagruel. Wake not
a sleeping wolf. Henry IV. Pt. II.
O sleep! it is a gentle thing,
Beloved from pole to pole!
To Mary Queen the praise be given!
She sent the gentle sleep from Heaven
That slid into my soul.
Coleridge—Ancient Mariner. Pt. V. St. 1.
Visit her, gentle Sleep! with wings of healing,
And may this storm be but a mountain-birth,
May all the stars hang bright above her dwelling,
Silent as though they watched the sleeping Earth!
Coleridge—Dejection. An Ode. St. 8.
Care-charmer Sleep, son of the sable Night,
Brother to Death, in silent darkness born;
Relieve my languish, and restore the light.
Samuel Daniel—Sonnet. 46. To Delia.
Awake thee, my Lady-Love!
Wake thee, and rise!
The sun through the bower peeps
Into thine eyes.
George Darley—Waking Song.
Golden slumbers kiss your eyes,
Smiles awake you when you rise.
Thos. Dekker—The Comedy of Patient Grissil. (Play written by Dekker, Henry
Chettle, Wm. Houghton.)
| author =
| work =
| place =
| note =
| topic = Sleep
| page = 717
}}
{{Hoyt quote
| num = 15
| text = Sister Simplicitie!
Sing, sing a song to me,—
Sing me to sleep!
Some legend low and long,
Slow as the summer song
Of the dull Deep.
Sidney Dobell—A Sleep Song.
{{Hoyt quote
| num = | text = <poem>Two gates the silent house of Sleep adorn:
Of polished ivory this, that of transparent horn: True visions through transparent horn arise; Through polished ivory pass deluding lies. Dryden—Æneid. Bk. VI. 894. Same in Pope's trans, of Odyssey. Bk. XIX. 562. 'See also Morris)
