Lotos-land.
145
There nothing has been or shall be,
But all things are eternally.
The tired soul may not think nor see
Such quiet rules the spot;
But all things are eternally.
The tired soul may not think nor see
Such quiet rules the spot;
For there is neither hope nor fear,
No hated thing and nothing dear,
Nor any troubled atmosphere,
Nor anything but rest.
Such utter sleep, such thoughtlessness,
As might a mortal life redress
And set aside its deadly stress,
From even a woman's breast.
No hated thing and nothing dear,
Nor any troubled atmosphere,
Nor anything but rest.
Such utter sleep, such thoughtlessness,
As might a mortal life redress
And set aside its deadly stress,
From even a woman's breast.
Oh, land, dear land! sweet visioned shore,
That no man's footsteps may explore,
Nor any but a fool deplore,
Yet would I slept in thee!
The jester tires of cap and bells,
The disenchanted laughs at spells,
The past all future lies foretells.
Dear land, come true for me!
That no man's footsteps may explore,
Nor any but a fool deplore,
Yet would I slept in thee!
The jester tires of cap and bells,
The disenchanted laughs at spells,
The past all future lies foretells.
Dear land, come true for me!
