FATIGUE itself may be a pleasant thing And weariness be silken, soft and fine! Upon my eyes its little vapors shine, Trailing me softly like a colored wing! Tender as when beloved voices sing It steals upon me and with touch divine Lulls all my senses till each thought of mine Is hushed to quiet, unremembering. Oh, weariness thrice dear, so frailly spun Of ended pleasure that still shines and glows; Oh, weariness, thrice dear! What have I done To earn this delicate and deep repose? Child, thou hast worshipped at the setting sun And looked, long, long, upon the opening rose. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...CAVALIER TUNES: GIVE A ROUSE THEN FOR THE CLINIC by ROBERT BROWNING MY LAST DUCHESS; FERRRA by ROBERT BROWNING VERSES TO HER ROYAL HIGHNESS THE DUCHESS OF YORK by JOHN DRYDEN A SEA STORY by EMILY HENRIETTA HICKEY FROM POOLS OF DEEPER THOUGHT by MAUDE HARDY ARNOLD SONG: 5 by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD |