Mother, thy mortal balms about me! Open thine opiate calms about me, Deep in thyself where nor shadows nor shapes surround! Lower me into thy cryptic oblivion profound! For I'm weary, and wasted, and worsted, and reeling, I'm sick of the malady of feeling— There's cure in the kind narcotic healing Of the ground! Lay me where robins wing above me, Snows melt to earliest spring above me; Let me lie lost in some corner by lane or run— Wild and unkempt—an old orchard or pasture trod by none; Some neglected nook, with stone walls nigh it, That the summer will steep in a somnolent quiet, Where the tangles of raspberry brambles riot In the sun. Gone are the mortal desperations, Gone the immortal aspirations; Nature erases—oh, Nature at last erases Love that found tortured releasing in tragic magic phrases; Forgot be the months of hale defiance Of Sin, and the moment of sick compliance— With the dear New England dandelions And the daisies! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE SHEPHERD, FR. SONGS OF INNOCENCE by WILLIAM BLAKE HUMPTY DUMPTY RECITATION [OR, SONG] by CHARLES LUTWIDGE DODGSON CONCORD HYMN; SUNG AT COMPLETION OF CONCORD MONUMENT, 1836 by RALPH WALDO EMERSON TO FURIUS ON POVERTY by FRANKLIN PIERCE ADAMS THE FINEST DAY OF ONE'S LIFE by JACQUES BARON THE LOVE SONNETS OF PROTEUS: 67. THE THREE AGES OF WOMAN: 2 by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT |