O Winter! ruler of the inverted year, . . . I crown thee king of intimate delights, Fireside enjoyments, home-born happiness, And all the comforts that the lowly roof Of undisturbed Retirement, and the hours Of long uninterrupted evening, know.
Hide me from day's garish eye, While the bee with honied thigh, That at her flowery work doth sing, And the waters murmuring With such consort as they keep, Entice the dewy-feathered sleep.
The empty, the one, the unmoved, the full, satiation, wanting nothing--that would be my evil: in short, dreamless sleep.
Always the idea of unbroken quiet broods around the grave. It is a port where the storms of life never beat, and the forms that have been tossed on its chafing waves lie quiet forevermore. There the child nestles as peacefully as ever it lay in its mother's arms, and the workman's hands lie still by his side, and the thinker's brain is pillowed in silent mystery, and the poor girl's broken heart is steeped in a balm that extracts its secret woe, and is in the keeping of a charity that covers all blame.
Sweet sleep be with us, one and all! And if upon its stillness fall The visions of a busy brain, We'll have our pleasure o'er again, To warm the heart, to charm the sight, Gay dreams to all! good night, good night.
I fell into a deep sleep tucked in that little cocoon, a deeper sleep than I might of had in years. Right up until someone kicked me and said "Gotcha!
This sleep is sound indeed; this is a sleep That from this golden rigol hath divorc'd So many English kings.
He sleeps well who knows not that he sleeps ill.
I thank you for not snoring.
Be thy sleep Silent as night is, and as deep.
Where you're not allowed to be woken up by any outside sources, you wake up naturally.
Sleep the sleep that knows not breaking, morn of toil, nor night of waking.
Sweet sleep fell upon his eyelids, unwakeful, most pleasant, the nearest like death.
When sleep enters the body like smoke and man journeys into the abyss like an extinguished star that is lighted elsewhere, then all quarrel ceases, overworked nag that has tossed the nightmare grip of its rider.
Thou hast no figures nor no fantasies Which busy care draws in the brains of men; Therefore thou sleep'st so sound.
