They sleep well here, <br />These fisher-folk who passed their anxious days <br />In fierce Atlantic ways; <br />And found not there, <br />Beneath the long curled wave, <br />So quiet a grave. <br /> <br />And they sleep well, <br />These peasant-folk, who told their lives away, <br />From day to market-day, <br />As one should tell, <br />With patient industry, <br />Some sad old rosary. <br /> <br />And now night falls, <br />Me, tempest-tost, and driven from pillar to post, <br />A poor worn ghost, <br />This quiet pasture calls; <br />And dear dead people with pale hands <br />Beckon me to their lands.<br /><br />Ernest Christopher Dowson<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/in-a-breton-cemetery/
