THERE are lads who count the days To the glad vacation time, And their hearts go truanting; Though they walk appointed ways Duteously, the home-bells chime In their ears, the home-birds sing, And they hear their cronies call To some game or festival. I could wish that death might come Like the respite to a task, Or a holiday hard-won. Life's long schooling burdensome Over now, so we may bask In a sense of duty done; In a sense of freedom wide Opening out on every side. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE EXILE TO HIS WIFE by JOSEPH BRENAN IRELAND (1847) by DENIS FLORENCE MCCARTHY CALMNESS OF THE SUBLIME by PHILIP JAMES BAILEY NATALIA'S RESURRECTION: 1 by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT EPIGRAM ON AN HOUR-GLASS by WILLIAM BROWNE (1591-1643) |