  decorative AND did they say that rest was not so sweet, Old age a sadness, no repose at all? Then have they quite forgotten. They remember No more the heartbreak of their early youth, The battle fought for life, the angry clouds That hid the sun, till he would shine no more, The anguish of their nights, that made their bed A furnace and a rack. They say: 'Twas but A nightmare! And they smile, and yet that smile Is sadder than a frown, much sadder than A tear, as it is hopeless. For a tear That smile is sunless, be it e'er so sweet. And know ye not how wildly ye have called On Death, and tried to catch him by the wing, Or let yourself be trodden under foot By him? And wrung your hands in agony, When he had passed you by. Ye dare not tell Your heart what it has suffered, dare not look Into the past again, for fear of turning To stone, for whitelipp'd fear of waking from Its sleep that heart to make it throb again, Like millstones. You remember! Ah! You see! You even try to do away with pity, For fear of being tortured yet again, And shaken yet again, and no more able To quiet that unruly heart, that learnt To fear. Oh! Have ye never known what fear That hammers nails into your brain and hands, The coming of the dawn, that cruel dawn, With icy, deathlike eyes and hollow voice, Announcing mercilessly that the day Hath come? And were you not afraid, when night Set in again, with redhot eyeballs, with The lonely wringing of your soul between Her hands, like linen, that she washed in tears, In blood, in rivers of despair? Oh, see! Here comes with gentle wing and loving eye Sweet Rest, and lays her mantle round your shoulders, And bids you fear no more, but listen to The birds' first Alleluia to the morn, That dances o'er the dew, up to the dawn, And be it e'er so cold, so lifeless, like The last of all the dawn they sang to. Fear That grief has steeped you in. You know that ne'er Another day can be so dark again, As Rest forbids the cruel dawn to break With threat'ning eyes, as Rest shuts out the night, And leaves thee lonely not, but fills thy sight With loving faces at the gates of heaven. Sweet Rest is round thee, like an autumn sun, And sheds thy rays upon the striving young ones. Ye long for bed again, like little children; No longer doth the pillow seem on fire, Your couch a bed of coals. The weary head Is cool, the limbs lie still, and thought comes gently Like a nurse's well-known ditty, that will lull To sleep thee with its sameness. Rest hath come At last, and looks into thy room, into Thy heart, and sends forgetfulness, like balm, The clock is peaceful with its quiet beat, And night and morn are one; they bring no struggle. Sweet Rest hath come, great, wingÈd, heaven-born, To lead thee to thy home with angels' hands. |
|
