Rest.
175
Beyond? where noontide shadows stand
Under the boughs, deep down the vales?
Where silence lifts a calming hand
O'er leaf that stirs, and cloud that sails?
With earnest eyes, but looks resigned,
She wanders now and thinks to find
Within some green, leaf-shaded glen,
God's open page beside her shining,
Noon, like a blue-robed Magdalen,
Close to the wooded wave reclining.
With hopes that took the garb of fear,
Her watch she kept, and noon drew near;
Then said that strange voice, cold and clear,
"Truce to thy hoping, vain and fond,
Rest is not here, it lies beyond."
Under the boughs, deep down the vales?
Where silence lifts a calming hand
O'er leaf that stirs, and cloud that sails?
With earnest eyes, but looks resigned,
She wanders now and thinks to find
Within some green, leaf-shaded glen,
God's open page beside her shining,
Noon, like a blue-robed Magdalen,
Close to the wooded wave reclining.
With hopes that took the garb of fear,
Her watch she kept, and noon drew near;
Then said that strange voice, cold and clear,
"Truce to thy hoping, vain and fond,
Rest is not here, it lies beyond."
Ah me, poor soul! not yet she droops,
With hands meek crossed, and mournful eyes,
Till eve lets loose her shadowy troops,
Till night's black turrets paint the skies,
While weary hours seem weary years,
She counts the time by falling tears.
With hands meek crossed, and mournful eyes,
Till eve lets loose her shadowy troops,
Till night's black turrets paint the skies,
While weary hours seem weary years,
She counts the time by falling tears.
