Sonnet. Sweet sleep ! ah far more dear art thou to me Than all my waking hours, for when thy hand Leads me within the dim mysterious land, Her spirit, like my own, released by thee, Awaits me there, and once again I see, In the dream light, the dear-loved smile of old ; And cherished memories of the past unfold Their hidden leaves to sunshine, breeze and bee ; And once again her hand in mine I take, And wander where the woodlands thrill with birds ; Or pause beside the sleeping, moonlit lake, In silent ecstasy too deep for words. Sweet sleep ! what wonder if to thee I give My praise, for when I wake I cease to live. Sydney Hodges.