Horaces Odes 1.30

Venus, queen of Cnidus and Paphos,
spurn your beloved Cyprus,
turn yourself to the elegant home
of Glycera inviting you
with all her incense.
Bring the burning boy with you -
let the Graces and Nymphs, ungirdled, hurry by -
and Youth, who's no good guest at all without you -
and Mercury.

Horace, Odes 1.30

To Sleep (Somnus)

Why do I deserve this? What crime did I do?
Youth, most tranquil of the gods, why do I
suffer alone without your gifts, Mr. Sleep?
The herds are silent, the birds and beasts, the
drooping treetops mimic exhausted slumber; the rushing
of the deep has died, the sea supine against the land.
Seven times now, Phoebus has seen my aching eyes
standing at attention; so often was I watched by
Oetaean and Paphian lamps, so often warm Tithonia
strode by my complaints and splashed me with her icy whip.
How can I go on? Not even if I had a thousand eyes
like divine Argos, alternated in vigilance,
never keeping watch with his entire person.
But what now? If someone, on some long night,
wrapped in a lady's entwining arms,
pushed you away freely, Sleep, come this way!
Don't compel my eyes by pouring
all your wings upon them - happier people
deserve that prayer - just tap me with your wand,
enough for me, or tread so softly and whisk on by.

(Statius, Silvae 5.4)