Tired, I went away from town And wandered in the woods. . . . "Why not lay it wholly down -- That weight of doubtful goods?" Then, rested, I was discontent, Craved the compelling hours -- And took again on shoulders bent The walls and roofs and towers. But here is a man who measures his toil In Grenstone, then his rest: A little farm in his native soil And bright dawn in his breast. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...EVENING IN ENGLAND by FRANCIS LEDWIDGE INDIAN NAMES by LYDIA HUNTLEY SIGOURNEY THE ARGONAUTS (ARGONATUICA): JASON'S SOWING AND REAPING by APOLLONIUS RHODIUS BLUEBEARD by RUTH FITCH BARLETT |