THE
PLACE OF HIS REST
|
|
THE
green marsh-mallows
Are over him.
Along the shallows
The pale lights swim.
Wide air, washed grasses,
|
5 |
And
waveless stream;
And over him passes
The drift of dream;—
The pearl-hue down
Of the poplar seed;
|
10 |
The
elm-flower brown;
And the sway of the reed;
The blue moth, winged
With a flake of sky;
The bee, gold ringed;
|
15 |
| And
the dragon fly.
Lightly the rushes
Lean to his breast;
A bird’s wing brushes
The place of his rest.
|
20 |
The far-flown swallow,
The gold-finch flame,—
They come, they follow
The paths he came.
’Tis the land of No Care
|
25 |
Where
now he lies,
Fulfilled the prayer
Of his weary eyes:
And while around him
The kind grass creeps,
|
30 |
Where
peace hath found him
How sound he sleeps.
Well to his slumber
Attends the year:
Soft rains without number
|
35 |
| Soft
noons, blue clear,
With nights of balm,
And the dark, sweet hours
Brooding with calm,
Pregnant with flowers.
|
40 |
See how she speeds them,
Each childlike bloom,
And softly leads them
To tend his tomb!—
The white thorn nears
|
45 |
As
the cowslip goes;
Then the iris appears;
And then, the rose. |
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