Riddles

What does man love more than life
Hate more than death or mortal strife
That which contented men desire
The poor have, the rich require

The miser spends, but the spendthrift saves
And all men carry to their graves
What am I?

Nothing

I weaken all for hours each day
I show you strange visions while you are away
I take you by night, by day take you back
None suffer to have me, but do from my lack
What am I?

Sleep

My life is often a volume of grief
your help is needed to turn a new leaf
Stiff is my spine and my body is pale
but I'm always ready to tell a new tale

I could be
A book
Or I might be
A Beggar

I march before armies, a thousand salute me
My fall can bring victory, but no one would shoot me
The wind is my lover, one-legged am I
Name me and see me at home in the sky
What am I?

Riddles they please us
Ease us and tease us
Not knowing what the answer might be
But if one wants to find them
Take time to unwind them
And enjoy the ploy of mystery