Lo, sleep is good, better is death--in sooth The best of all were never to be born.
Thinking of Germany in the night robs me of my sleep.
Sleep is lovely, death is better still, not to have been born is of course the miracle.
A lonely fir-tree is standing On a northern barren height; It sleeps, and the ice and snow-drift Cast round it a garment of white.
Sleep is good, death is better; but of course, the best thing would to have never been born at all.