Rest

WE are so tired, my heart and I. Of all things here beneath the sky One only thing would please us best-- Endless, unfathomable rest. We are so tired; we ask no more Than just to slip out by Life's door; And leave behind the noisy rout And everlasting turn about. Once it seemed well to run on too With her importunate, fevered crew, And snatch amid the frantic strife Some morsel from the board of life. But we are tired. At Life's crude hands We ask no gift she understands; But kneel to him she hates to crave The absolution of the grave.