Behind Those Golden Slumbers
- Get link
- X
- Other Apps
"Come sleep, O Sleep, the certain knot of peace." (Sir Philip Sydney, 1580s).
Eight hours is eight hours, yet why does eight hours of sleep pass at a much different rate than eight hours of work or eight hours of play? How does the time seem to pass at such a different rate?
We don't want to close our eyes, lest we miss a thing; yet, we would die without sleep. Our survival depends on it. At risk of sounding like a "stoner thought" (perhaps "shower thought" would be better said), isn't it interesting that over the course of our lives, such a significant portion is passed while we are unconscious? We close our eyes and wake up having traveled with the orbit of the planet through space.
Today I learned that the Beatle's famous song, "Golden Slumbers" was an adaptation of a song found in a play by Thomas Dekker popular in the early 1600's:
Golden slumbers kiss your eyes,
Smiles awake you when you rise;
Sleep, pretty wantons, do not cry,
And I will sing a lullaby,
Rock them, rock them, lullaby.
Care is heavy, therefore sleep you,
You are care, and care must keep you;
Sleep, pretty wantons, do not cry,
And I will sing a lullaby,
Rock them, rock them, lullaby.
Thomas Dekker may have borrowed his song or a version of the song from another that was borrowed from other "cradle songs" that go back into the 1500s as far as we are able to tell.
We need sleep, for in it we are restored, rejuvenated, rested. And many times, it is from sleep our best ideas come. So as much as we don't want to miss a thing, it's always better after a little rest. Just remember to get back up again.
It's from an old movie (a family fav), but I bet you can't watch this clip without yawning:
It's from an old movie (a family fav), but I bet you can't watch this clip without yawning:
Popular posts from this blog
I’ll Be Gnome For Christmas
The Island-Fish
“O ye passengers, whom may God preserve! come up quickly in to the ship, hasten to embark, and leave your merchandise, and flee with your lives, and save yourselves from destruction; for this apparent island, upon which ye are, is not really an island, but it is a great fish that hath become stationary in the midst of the sea, and the sand hath accumulated upon it, so that it hath become like an island, and trees have grown upon it since times of old; and when ye lighted the fire upon it, the fish felt the heat, and put itself in motion, and now it will descend with you into the sea, and ye will all be drowned: then seek for yourselves escape before destruction, and leave the merchandise.—The passengers, therefore, hearing the words of the master of the ship, hastened to go up into the vessel, leaving the merchandise, and their other goods, and their copper cooking-pots, and their fire-pots; and some reached the ship, and others reached it not. The island had moved, and descended...
“And so, about this tomb of mine . . . “
“VANITY, saith the preacher, vanity! Draw round my bed: is Anselm keeping back? Nephews—sons mine … ah God, I know not! Well— She, men would have to be your mother once, Old Gandolf envied me, so fair she was! What’s done is done, and she is dead beside, Dead long ago, and I am Bishop since, And as she died so must we die ourselves, And thence ye may perceive the world’s a dream. Life, how and what is it? As here I lie In this state-chamber, dying by degrees, Hours and long hours in the dead night, I ask “Do I live, am I dead?” Peace, peace seems all. Saint Praxed’s ever was the church for peace; And so, about this tomb of mine. I fought With tooth and nail to save my niche, ye know: —Old Gandolf cozened me, despite my care; Shrewd was that snatch from out the corner South He graced his carrion with, God curse the same! Yet still my niche is not so cramped...