WHERE I shall rest when my last song is over The air is smelling like a feast of wine; And purple breakers of the windy clover Shall roll to cool this burning brow of mine; And there shall come to me, when day is told The peace of sleep when I am grey and old. I'm wild for wandering to the far-off places Since one forsook me whom I held most dear. I want to see new wonders and new faces Beyond East seas; but I will win back here When my last song is sung, and veins are cold As thawing snow, and I am grey and old. Oh paining eyes, but not with salty weeping, My heart is like a sod in winter rain: Ere you will see those baying waters leaping Like hungry hounds once more, how many a pain Shall heal; but when my last short song is trolled You'll sleep here on wan cheeks grown thin and old. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...OBERMANN ONCE MORE by MATTHEW ARNOLD VISIONS: 5 by WILLIAM BROWNE (1591-1643) TO A CATY-DID by PHILIP FRENEAU THE VILLAGE BLACKSMITH by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW ON A GRAVE AT GRINDELWALD by FREDERICK WILLIAM HENRY MYERS THE COMMONPLACE by WALT WHITMAN |