Soft sleep, sweet sleep; a little soothing psalm

Only a little holiday of sleep,
Soft sleep, sweet sleep; a little soothing psalm
Of slumber from thy sanctuaries of calm,
A little sleep—it matters not how deep;
A little falling feather from thy wing,
Merciful Lord,—is it so great a thing?

Richard Le Gallienne

A flock of sheep that leisurely pass by
One after one; the sound of rain, and bees
Murmuring; the fall of rivers, winds and seas,
Smooth fields, white sheets of water and pure sky
I have thought of all by turns and yet do lie
Sleepless!
Come, blessed barrier between day and day.
Dear mother of fresh thoughts and joyous health!

William Wordsworth

Sleep is a reconciling,
A rest that peace begets;
Does not the sun rise smiling
When fair at eve he sets'

Anonymous

The cloud-shadows of midnight possess their own
repose,
The weary winds are silent or the moon is in the
deep;
Some respite to its turbulence unresting ocean
knows;
Whatever moves, or toils, or grieves, hath its
appointed sleep.

Percy Bysshe Shelley

We lay
Stretched upon fragrant heath and lulled by sound
Of far-off torrents charming the still night,
To tired limbs and over-busy thoughts
Inviting sleep and soft forgetfulness.

William Wordsworth

There is sweet music here that softer falls
Than petals from blown roses on the grass,
Or night-dews on still waters between walls
Of shadowy granite, in a gleaming pass;
Music that gentlier on the spirit lies
Than tired eye-lids upon tired eyes;
Music that brings sweet sleep down from the blissful skies.
Here are cool mosses deep,
And thro' the mass the ivies creep,
And in the stream the long-leaved flowers weep.
And from the craggy ledge the poppy hangs in sleep.

Alfred Tennyson

I went into the deserts of dim sleep—
That world which, like an unknown wilderness,
Bounds this with its recesses wide and deep

Percy Bysshe Shelley

Oh, Morpheus, my more than love, my life,
Come back to me, come back to me! Hold out
Your wonderful, wide arms and gather me
Again against your breast. I lay above
Your heart and felt its breathing firm and slow
As waters that obey the moon and lo,
Rest infinite was mine and calm. My soul
Is sick for want of you. Oh, Morpheus,
Heart of my weary heart, come back to me!

Leolyn Louise Everett

Lips
Parted in slumber, whence the regular breath
Of innocent dreams arose.

Percy Bysshe Shelley

A late lark twitters in the quiet skies;
And from the west,
Where the sun, his day's work ended,
Lingers in content,
There falls on the old, gray city
An influence luminous and serene,
A shining peace.

The smoke ascends
In a rosy-and-golden haze. The spires
Shine, and are changed. In the valley
Shadows rise. The lark sings on. The sun,
Closing his benediction,
Sinks, and the darkening air
Thrills with a sense of the triumphing night—
Night with her train of stars
And her great gift of sleep.

William Ernest Henley

Oh, 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.

Samuel T. Coleridge

What is more gentle than a wind in summer?
What is more soothing than the pretty hummer
That stays one moment in an open flower,
And buzzes cheerily from bower to bower?
What is more tranquil than a musk rose blowing
In a green island, far from all men's knowing?
More healthful than the leanness of dales?
More secret than a nest of nightingales?
More serene than Cordelia's countenance?
More full of visions than a high romance?
What, but thee Sleep? Soft closer of our eyes!
Low murmurer of tender lullabies!
Light hoverer around our happy pillows!
Wreather of poppy buds and weeping willows!
Silent entangler of a beauty's tresses!
Most happy listener! when the morning blesses
Thee for enlivening all the cheerful eyes
That glance so brightly at the new sun-rise.

John Keats

My sleep had been embroidered with dim dreams,
My soul had been a lawn besprinkled o'er
With flowers, and stirring shades of baffled beams.

John Keats

Sleep is a blessed thing. All my long life
I have known this, its value infinite
To man, its symbol of the perfect peace
That marks eternity, its marvellous
Relief from all the vanities and wounds,
The little battles and unrest of soul
That we call life.
Sleep is a blessed thing,
Doubly it has been taught me. All the time
I cannot have you, all the heart-sick days
Of utter yearning, of eternal ache
Of longing, longing for the sight of you,
Fade and dissolve at night and you are mine,
At least in dreams, at least in blessed dreams.

Leolyn Louise Everett