SOMEWHERE, O sun, some corner there must be <br />Thou visitest, where down the strand <br />Quietly, still, the waves go out to sea <br />From the green fringes of a pastoral land. <br /> <br /> <br />Deep in the orchard-bloom the roof-trees stand, <br />The brown sheep graze along the bay, <br />And through the apple-boughs above the sand <br />The bees' hum sounds no fainter than the spray. <br /> <br /> <br />There through uncounted hours declines the day <br />To the low arch of twilight's close, <br />And, just as night about the moon grows gray, <br />One sail leans westward to the fading rose. <br /> <br /> <br />Giver of dreams, O thou with scatheless wing <br />Forever moving through the fiery hail, <br />To flame-seared lids the cooling vision bring, <br />And let some soul go seaward with that sail!<br /><br />Edith Wharton<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/battle-sleep/
