Oh, Blessed Sleep!

I've been granted two-- count 'em, two-- nights of sound sleep in a row. Because of this, I dedicate a post to the gift of rest.

For those who hobnob with Will:
Sleep that knits up the ravell'd sleeve of care,
the death of each day's life, sore labour's bath,
Balm of hurt minds, great nature's second course,
Chief nourisher in life's feast,--
~Shakespeare, Macbeth

For those who insist that hoppy beer tastes good:
There is more refreshment and stimulation in a nap, even of the briefest, than in all the alcohol ever distilled.
~Edward Lucas

For tenders of springtime blossoms:
And if tonight my soul may find her peace
in sleep, and sink in good oblivion,
and in the morning wake like a new-opened flower
then I have been dipped again in God, and new-created.
~D.H. Lawrence

For rich and poor, fools and sages, and all those in-between:
Now, blessings light on him that first invented sleep! It covers a man all over, thoughts and all, like a cloak; it is meat for the hungry, drink for the thirsty, heat for the cold, and cold for the hot. It is the current coin that purchases all the pleasures of the world cheap, and the balance that sets the king and the shepherd, the fool and the wise man, even.
~Cervantes, Don Quixote

For the lullabye singers (most lullabye-ers leave out the third verse, though I don't):
Hush-a-bye, don't you cry,
Go to sleepy little baby.
When you wake, you shall find
All the pretty little horses.

Black and bay, dapple and grey,
Coach and six a' little horses,
Hush-a-bye, don't you cry,
Go to sleepy little baby.
Hush-a-bye, don't you cry,
Go to sleepy little baby,
When you wake, you shall find
All the pretty little horses.

Way down yonder, in the meadow,
Lies a poor li'l lamby.
The bees and the butterflies peckin' at its eyes,
The poor li'l lamb cried mammy.

Hush-a-bye, don't you cry,
Go to sleepy little baby.
When you wake, you shall find
All the pretty little horses.
-original lyrics collected by Alan Lomax. The above lyrics, however, are slightly different. I first found them in a collection of traditional folk songs John gave me before marriage.

For those who begrudge the necessity of sleep (do they exist?):
Cut if you will with sleep's dull knife
The years from off your life, my friend!
The years that death takes off my life,
He'll take from off the other end!
~Edna St. Vincent Millay

And, finally, a hope that this cluster period of nightime aches is at its end. If not, on to Monster Medications!
Regular posts, commence!