Life is bitter. All the faces of the years, Young and old, are gray with travail and with tears. Must we only wake to toil, to tire, to weep? In the sun, among the leaves, upon the flowers, Slumber stills to dreamy death the heavy hours, Let me sleep. Riches won but mock the old, unable years; Fame's a pearl that hides beneath a sea of tears; Love must wither, or must live alone and weep. In the sunshine, through the leaves, across the flowers, While we slumber, death approaches through the hours . . . Let me sleep. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ADVICE TO A RAVEN IN RUSSIA by JOEL BARLOW THE NIGHTINGALE AND THE GLOW-WORM by WILLIAM COWPER THE VICAR by WINTHROP MACKWORTH PRAED TEARS by LIZETTE WOODWORTH REESE CARELESS LINES ON LABOUR by FRANKLIN PIERCE ADAMS |