The Old
1834-1894
THEY are waiting on the shore
For the bark to take them home:
They will toil and grieve no more;
The hour for release hath come.
All their long life lies behind
Like a dimly blending dream:
There is nothing left to bind
To the realms that only seem.
They are waiting for the boat;
There is nothing left to do:
What was near them grows remote,
Happy silence falls like dew;
Now the shadowy bark is come,
And the weary may go home.
By still water they would rest
In the shadow of the tree:
After battle sleep is best,
After noise, tranquillity.
DayPoems Poem No. 752
<a href="http://www.daypoems.net/poems/752.html">The Old by Roden Berkeley Wriothesley Noel</a>
The DayPoems Poetry Collection, www.daypoems.net
Timothy Bovee, editor
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