University of Virginia Library


184

VIII.
REST

Yet rest and flowers, for swords and pain, are sweet
Sweet too the whispering of the summer wind
Outside the casement, softly through the blind
Pulsing:—advancing, playing at swift retreat!
Glad too it is the old soft glance to meet,
No longer doubtful, but for ever kind;
Glad all maturer raptures of the mind;
Pleasant the simple warmth, the strong June heat.
Oh, after the long fighting and the labour,
Pleasant it is to quit the ensanguined sword;
Joyous to cast aside the crimsoned sabre,
Unwinding from the wrist its blood-glued cord:
Merry to list to moonlight harp and tabour,
And all glad sounds through leafy vistas poured.