Let The Weary World Go Round

Let the weary world go round! What care I? Life's a surfeiting of sound: I would die. It would be so sweet to lie Under waving grasses, Where a maiden's footstep sly, Tremulous for a lover nigh, Sometimes passes. Why, why remain? Graves are the sovereign simples Against life's pain; Graves are the sheltering wimples Against life's rain; Graves are a mother's dimples When we complain. O Death! beautiful Death! Why do they thee disfigure? To me thy touch, thy breath, Hath nor alarm nor rigour. Thee do I long await; I think thee very late; I pine much to be going. Others have gone before; I hunger more and more To know what they are knowing. Heart, heart! be thou content! Accept thy banishment; Like other sorrows, life will end for thee. Yet for a little while Bear with this harsh exìle, And Death will soften and will send for thee.