The sleep of a labouring man is sweet.
She took the cup of life to sip,
Too bitter 'twas to drain;
She meekly put it from her lip,
And went to sleep again.
If thou wilt close thy drowsy eyes,
My mulberry one, my golden son,
The rose shall sing thee lullabies,
My pretty cosset lambkin!
Eugene Field—Armenian Lullaby.
| author =
| work =
| place =
| note =
| topic = Sleep
| page = 718
}}
{{Hoyt quote
| num = 1
| text = The mill goes toiling slowly round
With steady and solemn creak,
And my little one hears in the kindly sound
The voice of the old mill speak;
While round and round those big white wings
Grimly and ghostlike creep,
My little one hears that the old mill sings,
Sleep, little tulip, sleep.
Eugene Field—Nightfall in Dordrecht.
Care-charming Sleep, thou easer of all woes,
Brother to Death . . . thou son of Night.
John Fletcher—The Tragedy of Valentinian.
Act V. 2.
| seealso = (See also Browne)
| topic = Sleep
| page = 718
}}
{{Hoyt quote
| num =
| text = <poem>O sleep! in pity thou art made
A double boon to such as we;
Beneath closed lids and folds of deepest shade
Wetbink we see.
Frothingham—The Sight of the Blind.
Sleep sweet within this quiet room.
O thou! whoe'er thou art;
And let no mournful Yesterday,
Disturb thy peaceful heart.
Ellen M. H. Gates—£~
Oh! lightly, lightly tread!
A holy thing is sleep,
On the worn spirit shed,
And eyes that wake to weep.
Felicia D. Hemans—The Sleeper.
One hour's sleep before midnight is worth
three after.
| author = Herbert
| work = Jacula Prudentum.
Then Sleep and Death, two twins of winged race,
Of matchless swiftness, but of silent pace.
Homer—Iliad. Bk. XVI. L. 831
| note = Pope's trans.
| seealso = (See also Browne)
Et idem
Indignor quandoque bonus dormitat Homerus;
Verum opere longo fas est obrepere somnum.
I, too, am indignant when the worthy Homer nods; yet in a long work it is allowable for
sleep to creep over the writer.
Horace—Ars Poetica. 358.
I Jay me down to sleep,
With little thought or care
Whether my waking find
Me here, or there.
| author = Mrs. R. S. Howland
| cog = (Miss Woolsey)
| work = Rest.
| note = Found under the pillow of a soldier who, in the War of the Rebellion, died in the hospital at Port Royal. For a time attributed to this unknown soldier.
| topic = Sleep
| page = 718
}}
{{Hoyt quote
| num =
| text = <poem>O sleep, we are beholden to thee, sleep; •
Thou bearest angels to us in the night,
Saints out of heaven with palms.
Seen by thy light
Sorrow is some old tale that goeth not deep;
Love is a pouting child.
Jean Ingelow—Sleep.
I never take a nap after dinner but when I
have had a bad night, and then the nap takes me.
| author = Samuel Johnson
| work = Boswell's Life of Johnson.
(1775)
| topic = Sleep
| page = 718
}}
{{Hoyt quote
| num =
| text = <poem>O magic sleep! O comfortable bird,
That broodest o'er the troubled sea of the mind
Till it is hush'd and smooth! Ounconfined t
Restraint! imprisoned liberty f great key
To golden palaces.
Keats—Endymion. Bk. I. L. 452.
Over the edge of the purple down,
Where the single lamplight gleams,
Know ye the road to the Merciful Town
That is hard by the Sea of Dreams—
Where the poor may lay their wrongs away,
And the sick may forget to weep?
But we—pity us! Oh pity us!
We wakeful: Ah, pity us!—
Kipling—City of Sleep.
But who will reveal to our waiting ken
The forms that swim and the shapes that creep under the waters of sleep?
And I would I could know what swimmeth below
when the tide comes in
On the length and the breadth of the marvelous
Marches of Glynn.
Sidney Landsr—Marches of Glynn. Last
lines,
| author =
| work =
| place =
| note =
| topic = Sleep
| page = 718
}}
{{Hoyt quote
| num = 15
| text = Breathe thy balm upon the lonely,
Gentle Sleep!
As the twilight breezes bless
With sweet scents the wilderness.
Ah, let warm white dove-wings only
Round them sweep!
Lucr Larcom—Sleep Song.
For I am weary, and am overwrought
With too much toil, with too much care distraught,
And with the iron crown of anguish crowned.
Lay thy soft hand upon my brow and cheek,
O peaceful Sleep!
| author = Longfellow
| work = Sleep.
Dreams of the summer night!
Tell her, her lover keeps
Watch! while in slumbers light
She sleeps!
My lady sleeps!
Sleeps!
| author = Longfellow
| work = Spanish Student. Act I. Sc. 3.
Serenade. St. 4.
