Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, A CRY, by HERBERT EDWIN CLARKE

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A CRY, by            
First Line: Lo, I am weary of all
Last Line: There will never be rest for me.
Subject(s): Death; Dead, The

LO, I am weary of all,
Of men and their love and their hate;
I have been long enough Life's thrall
And the toy of a tyrant Fate.

I would have nothing but rest,
I would not struggle again;
Take me now to thy breast,
Earth, sweet mother of men.

Hide me and let me sleep;
Give me a lonely tomb
So close and so dark and so deep
I shall hear no trumpet of doom.

There let me lie forgot
When the dead at its blast are gone;
Give me to hear it not,
But only to slumber on.

This is the fate I crave,
For I look to the end and see
If there be not rest in the grave
There will never be rest for me.

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