THEY sleep well here, These fisher-folk who passed their anxious days In fierce Atlantic ways; And found not there, Beneath the long curled wave, So quiet a grave. And they sleep well These peasant-folk, who told their lives away, From day to market-day, As one should tell, With patient industry, Some sad old rosary. And now night falls, Me, tempest-tost, and driven from pillar to post, A poor worn ghost, This quiet pasture calls; And dear dead people with pale hands Beckon me to their lands | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...DOLCINO TO MARGARET by CHARLES KINGSLEY HUGH SELWYN MAUBERLEY: 4 by EZRA POUND PSALM 9. CONFITEBOR TIBI by OLD TESTAMENT BIBLE YESTERDAY by CHARLES GRANGER BLANDEN TO MARY RUSSELL MITFORD, IN HER GARDEN by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING CISMA DE INGLATERRA: STANZA 2 by PEDRO CALDERON DE LA BARCA UPON PRINCESS ELIZABETH, BORN THE NIGHT BEFORE NEW YEAR'S DAY by JOHN CLEVELAND |