THE PLACE OF REST
After a little while,
The cross will glisten and the thistles wave
Above my grave,
And planets smile;
Sweet Lord! then pillowed on Thy gentle breast,
I fain would rest,
After a little while.
THE PLACE OF REST
I am not happy, though my smiles betoken
The jocund fancies which I do not feel;
I am not happy, all my hopes are broken
Upon the world’s inexorable wheel.
’Tis said the dying shed no useless tears,
And so, I weep not for the vanished years.
I weep not for them, though they flock around me
In solitude, and in the noontide glare;
I weep not for them, though fond eyes confound me,
With midnight havened in their realmless stare.
With jests upon my lips I stand aghast
O’er the Dead Angel that we call the Past.
[ 151 ]
