A Quote by Arthur Symons

I have laid sorrow to sleep;Love sleeps.She who oft made me weepNow weeps. — © Arthur Symons
I have laid sorrow to sleep;Love sleeps.She who oft made me weepNow weeps.
Everyone told me to sleep when the baby sleeps, but she sleeps during the daytime, and that's when I have to get stuff done! I've been a zombie.
The city sleeps and the country sleeps, the living sleep for their time, the dead sleep for their time, the old husband sleeps by his wife and the young husband sleeps by his wife; and these tend inward to me, and I tend outward to them, and such as it is to be of these more or less I am, and of these one and all I weave the song of myself.
If she says goodbye perhaps adieu. Adieu - like those old time songs she sang. Always adieu (and all songs say it). If she too says it, or weeps, I'll take her in my arms, my lunatic. She's mad but mine, mine. What will I care for gods or devils or for Fate itself. If she smiles or weeps or both. For me.
The bore is good for promoting sleep; but though he causeth sleep in others, it is uncertain whether he ever sleeps himself; as few can keep awake in his company long enough to see. It is supposed that when he sleeps it is with his mouth open.
Cam: She is so lovely when she sleeps. Daniel: Is that why you wanted her to sleep for all eternity?
She sleeps: her breathings are not heard In palace chambers far apart. The fragrant tresses are not stirr'd That lie upon her charmed heart She sleeps: on either hand upswells The gold-fringed pillow lightly prest: She sleeps, nor dreams, but ever dwells A perfect form in perfect rest.
When I was in that danger...I felt like I was shaken awake...after everything she made me feel...I made a decision and went to sleep. Do you know what that's like - trying to go to sleep, and lose yourself in the hopes of burying the worst fears in your life?...I wasn't in love with the past. I was terrified of my own future.
Of lunacy, Innumerous were the causes; humbled pride, Ambition disappointed, riches lost, And bodily disease, and sorrow, oft By man inflicted on his brother man; Sorrow, that, made the reason drunk, and yet Left much untasted. So the cup was fill'd.
The female that loves unrequited sleeps, And the male that loves unrequited sleeps, The head of the money-maker that plotted all day sleeps, And the enraged and treacherous dispositions, all, all sleep.
My mom was more into the yelling. She was the enforcer. She was the one that laid down the law. My dad made up the rules, but my mom laid down the law. It's not her words, it's her tone that sticks with me.
At a personal level, it's just the day-to-day: I'm a mum that needs to meet all of the responsibilities that come with being a mum, making sure that Neve has the basics, that she's fed, that she's loved, that she sleeps as much as we're able to get her to sleep, and we will do that together. That's a practical reality of my new role.
And looking to the Heaven, that bends above you, How oft! I bless the Lot, that made me love you.
The weeping of the guitar begins. The goblets of dawn are smashed. The weeping of the guitar begins. Useless to silence it. Impossible to silence it. It weeps monotonously as water weeps as the wind weeps over snowfields. Impossible to silence it. It weeps for distant things. Hot southern sands yearning for white camellias. Weeps arrow without target evening without morning and the first dead bird on the branch. Oh, guitar! Heart mortally wounded by five swords.
I walked a mile with Pleasure; She chattered all the way. But left me none the wiser For all she had to say. I walked a mile with Sorrow And ne'er a word said she; But oh, the things I learned from her When Sorrow walked with me!
What is it that love does to a woman? Without she only sleeps with it alone, she lives.
What is it that love does to a woman? Without she only sleeps; with it alone, she lives.
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