SLEEP breathes at last from out thee, My little patient boy; And balmy rest about thee Smooths off the day's annoy. I sit me down, and think Of all thy winning ways; Yet almost wish, with sudden shrink, That I had less to praise. Thy sidelong pillowed meekness; Thy thanks to all that aid; Thy heart, in pain and weakness, Of fancied faults afraid; The little trembling hand That wipes thy quiet tears, -- These, these are things that may demand Dread memories for years. Sorrows I've had, severe ones, I will not think of now; And calmly, midst my dear ones, Have wasted with dry brow; But when thy fingers press And pat my stoping head, I cannot bear the glentleness, -- The tears are in their bed. Ah, first-born of thy mother, When life and hope were new; Kind playmate of thy brother, Thy sister, father too; My light, where'er I go; My bird, when prison-bound; My hand-in-hand companion -- No, My prayers shall hold thee round. To say, "He has departed" -- "His voice" -- "his face" -- is gone, To feel impatient hearted, Yet feel we must bear on, -- Ah, I could not endure To whisper of such woe, Unless I felt this sleep insure That it will not be so. Yes, still he's fixed, and sleeping! This silence too the while, -- Its very hush and creeping Seem whispering us a smile; Something divine and dim Seems going by one's ear, Like parting wings of cherubim, Who say, "We 've finished here." | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE SONG OF THE SHEPHERDS by EDWIN MARKHAM PICKING AND CHOOSING by MARIANNE MOORE THERE WILL COME SOFT RAINS' by SARA TEASDALE THE LONE BUTTE by EVA K. ANGLESBURG SATIRE: 3 by AULUS PERSIUS FLACCUS EMBLEMS OF LOVE: 19. THE HEART, LOVE'S BUTT by PHILIP AYRES A LOVE-MESSAGE by LILLIAN CORBETT BARNES URANIA; THE WOMAN IN THE MOON: THE FOURTH CANTO, OR LAST QUARTER by WILLIAM BASSE |