Here is the long-bided hour: the labor of years is accomplished. Why should this sadness unplumbed secretly weigh on my heart? Is it, my work being done, I stand like a laborer, useless, One who has taken his pay, alien to unwonted tasks? Is it the work I regret, the silent companion of midnight, Friend of the golden-haired Dawn, friend of the gods of the hearth? | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE WEATHER-COCK POINTS SOUTH by AMY LOWELL A NEW PILGRIMAGE: 33 by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT EURIPIDES by EDWARD GEORGE EARLE LYTTON BULWER-LYTTON THE WANDERER: 1. IN ITALY: ON THE SEA by EDWARD ROBERT BULWER-LYTTON EPIGRAM TO MISS AINSLIE IN CHURCH by ROBERT BURNS A GENUINE DIALOGUE BETWEEN A GENTLEWOMAN AT DERBY AND HER MAID by JOHN BYROM |