WHAT reck we of the creeds of men?– <br />We see them–we shall see again. <br />What reck we of the tempest's shock? <br />What reck we where our anchor lock? <br />On golden marl or mould– <br />In salt-sea flower or riven rock– <br />What matter–so it hold? <br /> <br />What matters it the spot we fill <br />On Earth's green sod when all is said?– <br />When feet and hands and heart are still <br />And all our pulses quieted? <br />When hate or love can kill nor thrill,– <br />When we are done with life and dead? <br /> <br />So we be haunted night nor day <br />By any sin that we have sinned, <br />What matter where we dream away <br />The ages?–In the isles of Ind, <br />In Tybee, Cuba, or Cathay, <br />Or in some world of winter wind? <br /> <br />It may be I would wish to sleep <br />Beneath the wan, white stars of June, <br />And hear the southern breezes creep <br />Between me and the mellow moon; <br />But so I do not wake to weep <br />At any night or any moon, <br /> <br />And so the generous gods allow <br />Repose and peace from evil dreams, <br />It matters little where or how <br />My couch is spread:–by moving streams, <br />Or on some eminent mountain's brow <br />Kist by the morn's or sunset's beams. <br /> <br />For we shall rest; the brain that planned, <br />That thought or wrought or well or ill, <br />At gaze like Joshua's moon shall stand, <br />Not working any work or will, <br />While eye and lip and heart and hand <br />Shall all be still–shall all be still!<br /><br />George Frederick Cameron<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/what-matters-it/
