 | The poems of Thomas Bailey Aldrich |  |
I
There is a rest for all things. On still nightsThere is a folding of a world of wings—
The bees in unknown woods,
The painted dragonflies, and downy broods
In dizzy poplar heights—
Rest for innumerable nameless things,
Rest for the creatures underneath the sea,
And in the earth, and in the starry air.
It comes to heavier sorrow than I bear,
To pain, and want, and crime, and dark despair
And yet comes not to me!
| The poems of Thomas Bailey Aldrich | |