Poems (Coates 1916)/Volume II/Where Harold Sleeps

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For other versions of this work, see Where Harold Sleeps.

WHERE HAROLD SLEEPS

WHERE Harold sleeps the night is blest.
In the Great Mother's easeful breast
 He lies the brave and sweet among
 Who, loved by the wise gods, die young—
The goal achieved without the quest.


Though winds of Autumn from the West
May rudely rock the unsheltered nest,
 Yet shall all joys of Spring be sung
   Where Harold sleeps;


And we, our human griefs confessed,
We, too, by a dear hope caressed—
 Death's hope illimitable, sprung
 From nothing that to earth hath clung—
Shall, waiting a new dawn, find rest
   Where Harold sleeps!