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[ Also see Action Bed Death Dreams Early Rising Insomnia Midnight Night Nightmares Peace Quiet Repose Rest Waking Weariness ]

The mystery
  Of folded sleep.
      - Lord Alfred Tennyson, Dream of Fair Women
         (st. 66)

When in the down I sink my head,
  Sleep, Death's twin-brother, times my breath.
      - Lord Alfred Tennyson, In Memoriam
         (pt. LXVIII)

If there aught in sleep can charm the wise?
  To lie in dead oblivion, losing half
    The fleeting moments of too short a life;
      Total extinction of th' enlighten'd soul,
 * * * * *
Who would in such a gloomy state remain
  Longer than nature craves?
      - James Thomson (1)

For is there aught in Sleep can charm the wise?
  To lie in dead oblivion, loosing half
    The fleeting moments of too short a life--
      . . . .
        Who would in such a gloomy state remain
          Longer than Nature craves?
      - James Thomson (1), Seasons--Summer (l. 71)

Well the art thou knowest in soft forgetfulness to steep the eyes which sorrow taught to watch and weep.
      - Mrs. Mary B. Tighe

Alike to the slave and his oppressor cometh night with sweet refreshment, and half of the life of the most wretched is gladdened by the soothings of sleep.
      - Martin Farquhar Tupper

Who can wrestle against Sleep?--Yet is that giant very gentleness.
      - Martin Farquhar Tupper, Of Beauty

Yet never sleep the sun up. Prayer shou'd
  Dawn with the day. There are set, awful hours
    'Twixt heaven and us. The manna was not good
      After sun-rising; far day sullies flowres.
        Rise to prevent the sun; sleep doth sin glut,
          And heaven's gate opens when the world's is shut.
      - Henry Vaughan ("The Silurist"),
        Rules and Lessons (st. 2)

Softly, O midnight hours!
  Move softly o'er the bowers
    Where lies in happy sleep a girl so fair:
      For ye have power, men say,
        Our hearts in sleep to sway
          And cage cold fancies in a moonlight snare.
      - Aubrey Thomas de Vere,
        Song--Softly, O Midnight Hours

Deep rest and sweet, most like indeed to death's own quietness.
      - Virgil or Vergil (Publius Virgilius Maro Vergil),
        The Aeneid (bk. VI, l. 522),
        (William Morris' translation)

Thou sleepest, Brutus, and yet Rome is in chains.
  [Lat., Tu dors, Brutus, et Rome est dans les fers.]
      - Voltaire (Francois Marie Arouet Voltaire),
        La Mort de Cesar (II, 2)

Hush, my dear, lie still and slumber,
  Holy angels guard thy bed!
    Heavenly blessings without number
      Gently falling on thy head.
      - Isaac Watts, A Cradle Hymn

'Tis the voice of the sluggard; I heard him complain,
  "You have waked me too soon, I must slumber again."
    As the door on its hinges, so he on his bed,
      Turns his sides and his shoulders and his heavy head.
        "A little more sleep, and a little more slumber;"
          Thus he wastes half his days, and his hours without number,
            And when he gets up, he sits folding his hands,
              Or walks about sauntering, or trifling he stands.
      - Isaac Watts, Moral Songs--The Sluggard
         (l. 1)

Sleeplessness is a desert without vegetation or inhabitants.
      - Jessamyn West

Come, gentle sleep! attend thy votary's prayer,
  And, though death's image, to my couch repair;
    How sweet, thought lifeless, yet with life to lie,
      And, without dying, O how sweet to die!
      - Dr. John Wolcot (Wolcott or Woolcott) (used pseudonym Peter Pindar),
        translation of Thomas Warton's Latin Epigram on Sleep for a statue of Somnus in the garden of Mr. Harris

How sweet, though lifeless, yet with life to lie; and without dying, oh, how sweet to die!
      - Dr. John Wolcot (Wolcott or Woolcott) (used pseudonym Peter Pindar)

Balm that tames all anguish, saint that evil thoughts and aims takest away, and into souls dost creep, like to a breeze from heaven.
      - William Wordsworth

Inviting sleep and soft forgetfulness.
      - William Wordsworth

And to tired limbs and over-busy thoughts,
  Inviting sleep and soft forgetfulness.
      - William Wordsworth, The Excursion (bk. IV)

How many sleep who keep the world awake!
      - Edward Young

Man's rich restorative; his balmy bath,
  That supples, lubricates, and keep in play
    The various movements of this nice machine,
      Which asks such frequent periods of repair,
        When tir'd with vain rotations of the day,
          Sleep winds us up for the succeeding dawn;
            Fresh we spin on, till sickness clogs our wheels,
              Or death quite breaks the spring, and motion ends.
      - Edward Young

Tired Nature's sweet restorer, balmy sleep!
  He, like the world, his ready visit pays
    Where fortune smiles; the wretched he forsakes.
      - Edward Young, Night Thoughts
         (night I, l. 1)

Creation sleeps. 'Tis as the general pulse
  Of life stood still, and nature made a pause.
      - Edward Young, Night Thoughts
         (night I, l. 23)

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