What is more tranquil than a musk-rose blowing
In a green island, far from all men’s knowing?

More healthful than the leafiness of dales?
More secret than a nest of nightingales?

More serene than Cordelia’s countenance?
More full of visions than a high romance?

What, but thee Sleep? Soft closer of our eyes!
Low murmurer of tender lullabies!

Sleep And Poetry, John Keats - lines 5-12