aming 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_.

XXXV.

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_.

XXXVI.

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_.

XXXVII.

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

_Percy Bysshe Shelley_.

XXXVIII.

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_.

XXXIX.

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_.

XL.

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 Cordeli