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Ina Donna Coolbrith (Ина Донна Кулбрит) At Peace Shut close the wearied eyes, O Sleep! So close no dreams may come between, Of all the sorrows they have seen; Too long, too sad, their watch hath been. Be faithful, Sleep: Lest they should wake — remembering; Lest they should wake, and waking weep, O Sleep, sweet Sleep! Clasp close the wearied hands, O Rest! Poor hands, so thin and feeble grown With all the tasks which they have done; Now they are finished — every one. O happy Rest, Fold them at last from laboring, In quiet on the quiet breast, O Rest, sweet Rest! Press close unto her heart, O Death! So close, not any pulse may stir The garments of her sepulchre: Lo, life hath been so sad to her! O kindest Death, Within thy safest sheltering Nor pain nor sorrow entereth — O Death, sweet Death! Ina Donna Coolbrith's other poems: Распечатать (Print) Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1183 |
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