As a fond mother, when the day is o'er, Leads by the hand her little child to bed, Half willing, half reluctant to be led, And leave his broken playthings on the floor, Still gazing at them through the open door, Nor wholly reassured and comforted By promises of others in their stead, Which, though more splendid, may not please him more; So Nature deals with us, and takes away Our playthings one by one, and by the hand Leads us to rest so gently, that we go Scarce knowing if we wish to go or stay, Being too full of sleep to understand How far the unknown transcends the what we know. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A PLANTATION BACCHANAL by JAMES WELDON JOHNSON HOW THE GREAT GUEST CAME by EDWIN MARKHAM A LETTER ON THE USE OF MACHINE GUNS AT WEDDINGS by KENNETH PATCHEN IN PICCADILLY by ISAAC ROSENBERG COUNTRY SCHOOLROOM, ADIRONDACK MOUNTAINS by LOUIS UNTERMEYER |