BE it life, be it death, there is nearing the dawn of a glorious day, When the murmurs of doubt we are hearing In silence shall dwindle away; And the hush and content that we covet -- The rest that we need, and the sleep That abides with the eyelids that love it, Shall come as we weep. We shall listen no more to the sobbing Of sorrowing lips, and the sound In our pillows at night of the throbbing Of feverish hearts will have found The quiet beyond understanding, The rush and the moan of the rain, That shall beat on the shingles, demanding Admittance in vain. The hand on the dial shall number The hours unmarked; and the bell Shall waken us not from the slumber That knows neither tolling of knell Nor the peals of glad melody showered Like roses of song o'er the pave Where the bride and the groom walk their flowered Green way to the grave. In that dawn, when it breaks, we shall wonder No more why the heavens send back To our prayers but the answer of thunder, And the lightning-scrawl, writ on the black Of the storm in a language no mortal May read till his questioning sight Shall have pierced through the innermost portal Of death to the light. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE DESPONDING SOUL'S WISH by JOHN BYROM TO MY HONORED FRIEND SIR ROBERT HOWARD by JOHN DRYDEN EPITAPH ON THE TOMB OF SIR EDWARD GILES AND HIS WIFE by ROBERT HERRICK THE ENTHUSIAST, OR, THE LOVER OF NATURE by JOSEPH WARTON CRICKET ON THE HEARTH by PIERRE JEAN DE BERANGER AFTER HARVEST by WILLIAM STANLEY BRAITHWAITE |