"Oh! what a wonder seems the fear of death,
Seeing how gladly we all sink to sleep,
Babes, children, youths, and men,
Night following night, for threescore years and ten!"
Coleridge, Monody on Chatterton.
"A sleep without dreams, after a rough day
Of toil, is what we covet most; and yet
How clay slinks back from more quiescent clay!"
Byron (reference lost).