In the house of drowsy Sleep, clouds mixed with fog, and shadows are exhaled from the ground. There still silence dwells. Out of the stony depths flows Lethe’s stream, whose waves induce drowsiness. In the cave mouth poppies flourish. There are no doors in the palace, lest a turning hinge lets out a creak, and no guard at the threshold. But in the cave’s centre there is a tall bed made of ebony spread with a dark-grey sheet, where the god himself lies, his limbs relaxed in slumber. Around him lie uncertain dreams, taking different forms. The god, hardly able to lift his eyes heavy with sleep, again and again, falling back, striking his nodding chin on his chest, at last shook himself free of his own influence, and resting on an elbow asked her (for he knew her) why she had come… userinfo +
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