Come, fair repentance, daughter of the skies! Soft harbinger of soon r >>
But the iniquity of oblivion blindly scattereth her poppy, and deals w >>
To believe only possibilities is not faith, but mere philosophy. >>
The first moments of sleep are an image of death; a hazy torpor grips >>
Sleep demands of us a guilty immunity. There is not one of us who, giv >>
Now blessings light on him that first invented this same sleep: it cov >>
We term sleep a death by which we may be literally said to die daily; in fine, so like death, I dare not trust it without my prayers.