Rest Master, for we be a-weary, weary <br />And would feel the fingers of the wind <br />Upon these lids that lie over us <br />Sodden and lead-heavy. <br /> <br />Rest brother, for lo ! the dawn is without ! <br />The yellow flame paleth <br />And the wax runs low. <br /> <br />Free us, for without be goodly colours, <br />Green of the wood-moss and flower colours, <br />And coolness beneath the trees. <br /> <br />Free us, for we perish <br />In this ever-flowing monotony <br />Of ugly print marks, black <br />Upon white parchment. <br /> <br />Free us, for there is one <br />Whose smile more availeth <br />Than all the age-old knowledge of thy books: <br />And we would look thereon.<br /><br />Ezra Pound<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-eyes-10/
