Gentle Hypnos, child of night-dwelling Nyx,
master of far-flung Erebos, far beyond
the path of the sun, I honor you, I thank you
for your blessings. Dark is your hall, O Hypnos,
dark and deep; red are the poppies that grow
at your gate. Young and fair you are, O Hypnos,
so beautiful in repose. Kind and good you are,
O brother of death, O granter of rest
to the weary, of respite to those whose need
for your comfort is desperate and dire. Hypnos,
fair-browed one whose gift of sleep restores us
to ourselves each day anew, I praise you.

Hypnos, bright-winged bringer of blessed sleep,
son of misty-eyed Nyx of the sooty night,
I call to you to grant me your favor.
In sunless Erebos you make your home,
O Hypnos; each eventide you follow
in Night’s wake, fleet of foot, garlanded
in blood-red poppies, their sweet scent a balm
to those who seek your gift. Hypnos, granter
of the peace of a night’s oblivion,
soft-spoken god in whose gentle
arms men lie in repose, I pray to you,
deliver me into soothing slumber.