A Book of Myths, by Jean Lang - Umnet

around the cave lurked the long dark shadows that bring fear to the
heart of children, and that, at nightfall, hasten the steps of the timid
wayfarer. No noise was there, but from far down the valley there came
a murmur so faint and so infinitely soothing that it was less a sound
than of a lullaby remembered in dreams. For past the valley of Sleep
flow the waters of Lethe, the river of Forgetfulness. Close up to the
door of the cave where dwelt the twin brothers, Sleep and Death,
blood-red poppies grew, and at the door itself stood shadowy forms,
their fingers on their lips, enjoining silence on all those who would
enter in, amaranth-crowned, and softly waving sheaves of poppies that
bring dreams from which there is no awakening. There was there no
gate with hinges to creak or bars to clang, and into the stilly darkness
Iris walked unhindered. From outer cave to inner cave she went, and
each cave she left behind was less dark than the one that she entered. In
the innermost room of all, on an ebony couch draped with sable
curtains, the god of sleep lay drowsing. His garments were black,
strewn with golden stars. A wreath of half-opened poppies crowned his
sleepy head, and he leaned on the strong shoulder of Morpheus, his
favourite son. All round his bed hovered pleasant dreams, gently
stooping over him to whisper their messages, like a field of wheat
swayed by the breeze, or willows that bow their silver heads and
murmur to each other the secrets that no one ever knows. Brushing the
idle dreams aside, as a ray of sunshine brushes away the grey wisps of
mist that hang to the hillside, Iris walked up to the couch where
Somnus lay. The light from her rainbow-hued robe lit up the darkness
of the cave, yet Somnus lazily only half-opened his eyes, moved his
head so that it rested more easily, and in a sleepy voice asked of her
what might be her errand. "Somnus," she said, "gentlest of gods,
tranquilliser of minds and soother of careworn hearts, Juno sends you
her commands that you despatch a dream to Halcyone in the city of
Trachine, representing her lost husband and all the events of the
wreck."
Her message delivered, Iris hastened away, for it seemed to her that
already her eyelids grew heavy, and that there were creeping upon her
limbs, throwing silver dust in her eyes, lulling into peaceful slumber
her mind, those sprites born of the blood-red poppies that bring to