Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, THE ODE OF PERFECT YEARS: 4. REST, by LEWIS MORRIS (1833-1907)


Poetry Explorer

Classic and Contemporary Poetry

THE ODE OF PERFECT YEARS: 4. REST, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: There is a joy in rest
Last Line: A black night left behind.
Subject(s): Rest


There is a joy in rest;
There is a joy to cease and to be still.
This is the remedy of all the best,
To cure the pain of too laborious will.
Ah! it is sweet to lie reclined,
Reaping the fallow mind,
When all the sweat and drouth of day is done,
And a cool breeze breathes from the setting sun.

The toiler sits before his cottage door,
Set with musk-roses round, and eglantine,
In dewy, scented, twilight-glooms divine,
When all the trouble of the week, is o'er,
And sabbath rest comes with the evening sun:
The joyous shouts come up from pool or green;
Round the white chestnut-spikes the beetles hum;
And down the hawthorn-haunted byways come
The loitering lovers, hardly seen
Till springs aloft the clear, large moon
Of pleasant June.

Or by the palm-thatched hut at shut of eve,
The dusky toilers lie, when the red sun
Is sinking or has gone.
A cool wind rises landward from the sea;
The fire-flies glance like silver in the palm;
On the fringed shore the thundering rollers heave;
And all the simple souls are full of glee,
And the fair earth of calm.

Or on the hot and trackless sand,
In the sweet dying day,
Beyond the unknown monuments of the dead,
The last muezzin calls, the prayers are said,
And turbaned faces stern relax a while
To some unwonted smile,
Watching the large-eyed children at their play.

Or maybe busy brains, which day by day
Life's struggle frets away,
Weary with fierce pursuit of fame or wealth,
And prizing only health;
Over the joyous wave in some swift boat,
White-winged, delight to float
From land to land upon the tideless sea;
Borne careless still and free
By hoary cape and gleaming southern town,
And many an islet clothed with palm and vine,
And on the wine-dark sea-depths looking down,
High based on wave-worn fronts, the marble shrine;
Or see the white town flush with dying day,
And the red mountain fire the glimmering bay.

Or maybe on the icy hill they creep
Above the pines, across the frozen sea,
Whose blue abysses bare the unfathomed deep;
Each to the other bound, and silently,
Fearful lest some chance step or spoken word,
The avalanche trembling downward may have stirred;
And up the giddy height
Little by little, gaining slow,
They gradually go,
Till with hard toil of knee and hand,
On the white summit panting but content,
With full hearts throbbing high and forces spent,
At last the climbers stand;
For this of old is sure,
That change of toil is toil's sufficient cure.

Or by the lovely classic shore,
The traveller sees with wondering eyes
The treasure-house of art; the store
Of gracious memories
Left by some cunning vanished hand,
At whose supreme command
The spirit of beauty rose and did appear:
The angel with the lily; the poor maid,
Submissive, yet afraid;
The fair Madonnas mild;
The deep ineffable Child;
The sweet boy-angels singing high and clear;
The lady with the mystic smile;
The kneeling Magi from the fabled East;
The blessed Presence at the sacred feast;
And many a virgin martyr sweet,
And many a youthful saint,
Gazing from heavenly eyes and free of guile;
Who, when the tortured life began to faint,
Looking in agony above,
Saw the heavens opened, and the Paraclete
Descending like a dove.

Or maybe under secular trees
Old when his ancestors were young,
The statesman, in the golden autumn, sees
New glories for the eloquent tongue,
New triumphs gained against the banded might
Of selfishness and fear, new struggles for the right;
And in the falling evening and the sad
Short light of waning days,
Illumes his soul with subtle inward rays,
And grows sedately glad.

These thy refreshments are, oh blest
And necessary Rest!
Peaceful delights, which bear not soil and fret
As do the victories of toil, and yet
Bear their own fruit exceeding fair:
Renewal of the labouring mind,
New hopes, new dawns, and carking care
A black night left behind.





Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!


Other Poems of Interest...
Home: PoetryExplorer.net