XXX <br /> <br />When all the labors of the day are past, <br />And on the world-exposed and fretted edge <br />Of my sad soul, like doves upon the ledge <br />Of yonder roof, my cares, with wings closed fast, <br />Doze into night; and from the future cast <br />Of my dark life I ask no cheering pledge, <br />No growing plume, hope's broken wing to fledge; <br />Content, if that dear hour will only last; <br />'Twere meet, that in this respite of the heart, <br />Some heavenward look, some thankful thought were given <br />To the great hand, that out of discord even, <br />Shapes my brief rest. But stubborn in the part <br />We ingrates play, the thoughts, that upward start, <br />Stoop to thy feet, and miss the way to heaven.<br /><br />George Henry Boker<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/sonnet-xxx-5/
