1
Darkling I listen; and, for many a time I have been half in love with easeful Death, Call'd him soft names in many a musèd rhyme, To take into the air my quiet breath.John Keats
2
Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness, Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun; Conspiring with him how to load and bless With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eves run; To bend with apples the moss’d cottage-trees, And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core; To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells With a sweet kernel; to set budding more, And still more, later flowers for the bees, Until they think warm days will never cease, For Summer has o’er-brimm’d their clammy cells.John Keats
3
Can death be sleep, when life is but a dream, And scenes of bliss pass as a phantom by?---" On deathJohn Keats
4
Precious is sleep, better to be of stone, while the oppression and the shame still last;not seeing and not hearing, I am blest;so do not wake me, hush! keep your voice down.Michelangelo Buonarroti
5
O night, O sweetest time, though black of hue, with peace you force all the restless work to end;those who exalt you see and understand, and he is sound of mind who honours you. You cut the thread of tired thoughts, for soyou offer calm in your moist shade; you sendto this low sphere the dreams where we ascendup to the highest, where I long to go. Shadow of death that brings to quiet closeall miseries that plague the heart and soul, for those in pain the last and best of cures;you heal the flesh of its infirmities, dry and our tears and shut away our toil, and free the good from wrath and fretting cares.Michelangelo Buonarroti