O little feet! that such long years <br />Must wander on through hopes and fears, <br />Must ache and bleed beneath your load; <br />I, nearer to the wayside inn <br />Where toil shall cease and rest begin, <br />Am weary, thinking of your road! <br /> <br />O little hands! that, weak or strong, <br />Have still to serve or rule so long, <br />Have still so long to give or ask; <br />I, who so much with book and pen <br />Have toiled among my fellow-men, <br />Am weary, thinking of your task. <br /> <br />O little hearts! that throb and beat <br />With such impatient, feverish heat, <br />Such limitless and strong desires; <br />Mine that so long has glowed and burned, <br />With passions into ashes turned <br />Now covers and conceals its fires. <br /> <br />O little souls! as pure and white <br />And crystalline as rays of light <br />Direct from heaven, their source divine; <br />Refracted through the mist of years, <br />How red my setting sun appears, <br />How lurid looks this soul of mine!<br /><br />Henry Wadsworth Longfellow<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/weariness-birds-of-passage-flight-the-second/
