BE HIS rest the rest he sought: <br /> Calm and deep. <br />Let no wayward word or thought <br /> Vex his sleep. <br />Peace—the peace that no man knows— <br /> Now remains <br />Where the wasted woodwind blows, <br /> Wakes and wanes. <br /> <br />Latter leaves, in Autumn’s breath, <br /> White and sere, <br />Sanctify the scholar’s death, <br /> Lying here. <br /> <br />Soft surprises of the sun— <br /> Swift, serene— <br />O’er the mute grave-grasses run, <br /> Cold and green. <br /> <br />Wet and cold the hillwinds moan; <br /> Let them rave! <br />Love that takes a tender tone <br /> Lights his grave. <br /> <br />He who knew the friendless face <br /> Sorrows shew, <br />Often sought this quiet place <br /> Years ago. <br /> <br />One, too apt to faint and fail, <br /> Loved to stray <br />Here where water-shallows wail <br /> Day by day. <br /> <br />Care that lays her heavy hand <br /> On the best, <br />Bound him with an iron hand; <br /> Let him rest. <br /> <br />Life, that flieth like a tune, <br /> Left his eyes, <br />As an April afternoon <br /> Leaves the skies. <br /> <br />Peace is best! If life was hard <br /> Peace came next. <br />Thus the scholar, thus the bard, <br /> Lies unvext. <br /> <br />Safely housed at last from rack— <br /> Far from pain; <br />Who would wish to have him back? <br /> Back again? <br /> <br />Let the forms he loved so well <br /> Hover near; <br />Shine of hill and shade of dell, <br /> Year by year. <br /> <br />All the wilful waifs that make <br /> Beauty’s face, <br />Let them sojourn for his sake <br /> Round this place. <br /> <br />Flying splendours, singing streams, <br /> Lutes and lights, <br />May they be as happy dreams: <br /> Sounds and sights; <br /> <br />So that Time to Love may say, <br /> “Wherefore weep? <br />Sweet is sleep at close of day! <br /> Death is sleep.”<br /><br />Henry Kendall<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/james-lionel-michael/
