 | The Collected Poems of Philip Bourke Marston |  |
A WISH.
I do but ask a little time of peace
Before the end of all. I crave no bliss;
I crave no love, nor fame; but only this, —
On summer days to bask beneath old trees,
Or half asleep to lie by gentle seas,
Hearing the waves that whisper ere they kiss,
Then break and babble; or, when twilight is,
And one by one the birds from singing cease,
Before the end of all. I crave no bliss;
I crave no love, nor fame; but only this, —
On summer days to bask beneath old trees,
Or half asleep to lie by gentle seas,
Hearing the waves that whisper ere they kiss,
Then break and babble; or, when twilight is,
And one by one the birds from singing cease,
Wander the patient, tranquil hills among,
And languish in an exquisite regret,
And hear a sad but not discordant song
Possess the air; and when the sun is set,
Lie down with thankfulness to know, ere long,
All things that ever were I shall forget.
And languish in an exquisite regret,
And hear a sad but not discordant song
Possess the air; and when the sun is set,
Lie down with thankfulness to know, ere long,
All things that ever were I shall forget.
| The Collected Poems of Philip Bourke Marston | |