 | Country muse |  |
96
REQUIESCAM
The churchyard yews may murmur on
Monotonous o'er me,
But that incessant dirge which sounds
So very wearily
May to the thistled grass make moan—
I shall not hear beneath my stone.
Monotonous o'er me,
But that incessant dirge which sounds
So very wearily
May to the thistled grass make moan—
I shall not hear beneath my stone.
Friends' faces shine not now again,
And I have breathed my last;
The pulse of love, the grip of scorn,
The ache, the stir are past:
Life was my only deep distress—
Sleep is my crown of happiness.
And I have breathed my last;
The pulse of love, the grip of scorn,
The ache, the stir are past:
Life was my only deep distress—
Sleep is my crown of happiness.
103
Of all I lose the loss is most
Of hearing birds no more;
Of no more hearing rebel waves
Insurgent on the shore;
The hedges, harvests, all are gone—
My little dream of daylight's done.
Of hearing birds no more;
Of no more hearing rebel waves
Insurgent on the shore;
The hedges, harvests, all are gone—
My little dream of daylight's done.
| Country muse | |