Crossword-Solution: SOMNUS
Anagrams
| Word | Anagrams | |
|---|---|---|
| SOMNUS | anagram | NOMUSS |
We have 5 clues for the answer “SOMNUS”
| Clue | Answers |
|---|---|
| GOD of night | 1 answer |
| MORPHEUS, father of | 1 answer |
| ROMAN god of night | 1 answer |
| ROMAN god of sleep | 2 answers |
| God of sleep | 5 answers |
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Dermatological complaint
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Hint 1 meaning
An inflammatory disease of the skin, characterized by the
presence of redness and itching, an eruption of small vesicles, and the
discharge of a watery exudation, which often dries up, leaving the skin
covered with crusts; -- called also tetter, milk crust, and salt rheum.
Hint 2 anagram
ECEZMA
Hint 3 another clue
eruption
8 +1
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Sentences with SOMNUS (5)
And the mouths of pale thousands were hushed When Somnus, a marvel of strength, Past Bowes like a sudden wind rushed, And led the bay colt by a length; But a chestnut came galloping through, And, down where the river-tide steals, O'Brien, on brave Waterloo, Dashed up to the big horse's heels.
With the Marquesans it might almost most be styled the great business of life, for they pass a large portion of their time in the arms of Somnus.
For, as it has often happened to the traveller in the York or the Exeter coach to fall snugly asleep in his corner, and on awaking suddenly to find himself sixty or seventy miles from the place where Somnus first visited him: as, we say, although you sit still, Time, poor wretch, keeps perpetually running on, and so must run day and night, with never a pause or a halt of five minutes to get a drink, until his dying day; let the reader imagine that since he left Mrs.
All night I slept, oblivious of my pain: Aurora dawned and Phœbus shined in vain, Nor, till oblique he sloped his evening ray, Had Somnus dried the balmy dews away.
Near the Cimmerian country, a mountain cave is the abode of the dull god, Somnus, Here Phoebus dares not come, either rising, or at midday, or setting.
Quotes with SOMNUS (1)
All my life I have been a poor go-to-sleeper. No matter how great my weariness, the wrench of parting with consciousness is unspeakably repulsive to me. I loathe Somnus, that black-masked headsman binding me to the block; and if in the course of years I have got so used to my nightly ordeal as almost to swagger while the familiar axe is coming out of its great velvet-lined case, initially I had no such comfort or defense: I had nothing - save a door left slightly ajar into Ma…