Come, for my waves that I can never know Of calm bestow; And thou, alas, like them, hast wandered far! Come, erring star -- Aweary now -- come take thy fill of rest Upon my breast. Come, for they call thee. Lean thy listening ear And thou shalt hear How soft the sigh that woos thee to the deep Of endless sleep, Wherein the past and all its passion seem A vanished dream. Behold, I cleanse whate'er of soilure clings To drooping wings: Whate'er abides of dust or cleaving clay I purge away; Like fire, refining, but apart from pain, All dross and stain. The fever-flame that throught thy being burns, My bosom yearns To quench. Behold, the ripples run to meet A sister's feet, With murmurs, not of scorn, but tenderness, To sooth and bless. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...MAHMOUD by JAMES HENRY LEIGH HUNT DIVINA COMMEDIA (INTRODUCTORY POEMS): 1 by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW LINCOLN, THE MAN OF THE PEOPLE by EDWIN MARKHAM WINDY NIGHTS by ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON |