 | Poems |  |
64
REST.
Well hast thou done, and with benignity,
Who didst behold and beckon me to thee;
For all the old cares unkind, while here I lie,
Are wholly vanishëd that seemed so sore,
And this sweet hour at least I must deny
That I shall see or know them any more.
Who didst behold and beckon me to thee;
For all the old cares unkind, while here I lie,
Are wholly vanishëd that seemed so sore,
And this sweet hour at least I must deny
That I shall see or know them any more.
For I, in this fair rest abiding here,
Nor forward look nor back for joy or fear,
But am, and am at peace, as one who swims
Drifting half-sunk in a deep spring-water,
Cool, cool and soft around his soothëd limbs,
And murmuring music in his dreamful ear.
Nor forward look nor back for joy or fear,
But am, and am at peace, as one who swims
Drifting half-sunk in a deep spring-water,
Cool, cool and soft around his soothëd limbs,
And murmuring music in his dreamful ear.
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