Roden Berkeley Wriothesley Noel: The Old
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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.


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DayPoems Poem No. 752



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The DayPoems web site, www.daypoems.net, is copyright 2001-2005 by Timothy K. Bovee. All rights reserved.

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