I try not to inflict my dreams on others. Thus, I beg your forbearance for what follows. I plead as an excuse that the dream is relevant only insofar as it relates to a poem by Christina Rossetti.
I recently had a dream of death. A nameless malady was afoot: it caused people to become drowsy; if they fell asleep, they died. I contracted the malady. I felt myself getting sleepy. I knew what would happen if I gave in to sleep. I was frightened. Yet, there was part of me that thought that giving in might not be such a bad thing: after all, it was only endless sleep that awaited me. The most vivid feature of the dream was the choice that I faced: to wit, the emotion involved in the pull between the fear of extinction and the release of just letting go.
A few days later, I thought of a poem by Christina Rossetti. It has been quite some time since I last read the poem (at least a year, I think), so it was not the source of the dream. I offer it, not as an explanation of the dream, but as a sort of counterpoint, or echo. (And, besides, the poem is far more interesting than the dream.)
Life and Death
Life is not sweet. One day it will be sweet
To shut our eyes and die:
Nor feel the wild flowers blow, nor birds dart by
With flitting butterfly,
Nor grass grow long above our heads and feet,
Nor hear the happy lark that soars sky high,
Nor sigh that spring is fleet and summer fleet,
Nor mark the waxing wheat,
Nor know who sits in our accustomed seat.
Life is not good. One day it will be good
To die, then live again;
To sleep meanwhile: so not to feel the wane
Of shrunk leaves dropping in the wood,
Nor hear the foamy lashing of the main,
Nor mark the blackened bean-fields, nor where stood
Rich ranks of golden grain
Only dead refuse stubble clothe the plain:
Asleep from risk, asleep from pain.
Christina Rossetti, The Prince's Progress and Other Poems (1866).