SLEEP SMILES
All gifts but one the jealous God may keep
From our soul's longing, one he cannot—sleep.
This, though he grudge all other grace to prayer,
This grace his closed hand cannot choose but spare.
She sleeps: her breathings are not heard
In palace chambers far apart,
The fragrant tresses are not stirr'd
That lie upon her charmed heart.
She sleeps: on either hand upswells
The gold fringed pillow lightly prest:
She sleeps, nor dreams, but ever dwells
A perfect form in perfect rest.
| author = Tennyson
| work = Day Dream. The Sleeping Beauty.
St. 3.
The mystery
Of folded sleep.
| author = Tennyson
| work = Dream of Fair Women. St. 66.
When in the down I sink my head,
Sleep, Death's twin-brother, times my breath.
| author = Tennyson
| work = In Memoriam. Pt. LXVIII.
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?
Thomson—Seasons. Summer. L. 71.
Who can wrestle against Sleep?—Yet is that
giant very gentleness.
Martin Tuppek—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—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 Thos. De Verb—Song. Softly,
Midnight Hours.
Deep rest and sweet, most like indeed to death's
own quietness.
Vergil—Æneid. Bk. VI. L. 522. Wu.
Morris' trans.
| seealso = (See also Browne)
| topic =
| page = 721
}}
{{Hoyt quote
| num =
| text = <poem>Tu dors, Brutus, et Rome est dans les fers.
Thou sleepest, Brutus, and yet Rome is in
chains.
Voltaire—La Mart de Cisar. II. 2.
Hush, my dear, lie still and slumber!
Holy angels guard thy bed!
Heavenly blessings without number
Gently falling on thy head.
Watts—Cradle Hymn.
'Tis the voice of the sluggard I hear him complain;
"You've waked me too soon, I must slumber
again.
A little more sleep and a little more slumber.
Watts—Moral Songs. The Sluggard.
Come, gentle sleep! attend thy votary's prayer,
And, though death's image, to my couch repair;
How sweet, though lifeless, yet with life to lie,
And, without dying, O how sweet to die!
John Wolcot (Peter Pindar). Trans, of Thos.
Warton's Latin Epigram on Sleep for a
statue of Somnus in the garden of Mr.
Harris.
And to tired limbs and over-busy thoughts,
Inviting sleep and soft forgetfulness.
Wordsworth—The Excursion. Bk. IV.
Tired Nature's sweet restorer, balmy sleep!
He, like the world, his ready visit pays
Where fortune smiles; the wretched he forsakes.
Young—Night Thoughts. Night I. L. 1.
Creation sleeps. 'Tis as the general pulse
Of life stood still, and nature made a pause.
Young—Night Thoughts. Night I. L. 23.
SLOE
Prunus Spinosa
From the white-blossoiped sloe, my dear Chloe
requested,
A sprig her fair breast to adorn.
No! by Heav'n, I exclaim'd, may I perish,
If ever I plant in that bosom a thorn.
John O'Keefe—The Thorn.
SMILES
What's the use of worrying?
It never was worth while, so
Pack up your troubles in your old kit-bag,
And smile, smile, smile.
George Asaf—Smile, Smile, Smile.
Smiles form the channels of a future tear.
Byron—Childe Harold. Canto II. St. 97.
Cervantes smiled Spain's chivalry away;
A single laugh demolished the right arm
Of his own country;—seldom since that day
Has Spain had heroes.
| author = Byron
| work = Don Juan. Canto XIII. St. 11.
But owned that smile, if oft observed and near,
Waned in its mirth, and wither'd to a sneer.
| author = Byron
| work = Lara. Canto I. St. 17. L. 11.
{{Hoyt quote
| num = | text = <poem>From thy own smile I snatched the snake. | author = Byron | work = Manfred. | seealso = (See also {{sc|Shelley)
