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.
XXXV.
I went into the deserts of dim sleep—
That world which, like an unknown wilderness,