THEY are at rest: We may not stir the heaven of their repose With loud-voiced grief, or passionate request, Or selfish plaint for those Who in the mountain grots of Eden lie, And hear the fourfold river, as it hurries by. They hear it sweep In distance down the dark and savage vale; But they at eddying pool or current deep Shall never more grow pale; They hear, and meekly muse, as fain to know How long untired, unspent, that giant stream shall flow. And soothing sounds Blend with the neighbouring waters as they glide Posted along the haunted garden's bounds Angelic forms abide, Echoing, as words of watch, o'er lawn and grove, The verses of that hymn which Seraphs chant above. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...LESSER EPISTLES: TO A LADY ON HER PASSION FOR OLD CHINA by JOHN GAY INDIAN WOMAN'S DEATH-SONG by FELICIA DOROTHEA HEMANS SWITZERLAND by JAMES SHERIDAN KNOWLES THE LAST GOODBYE by LOUISE CHANDLER MOULTON SUMMER. THE SECOND PASTORAL, OR ALEXIS by ALEXANDER POPE IN BATTLE by ABUL HASAN OF BADAJOZ DAWN ON THE HILLS (FROM A HOTEL WINDOW) by LILLIAN ATCHERSON |