The Old

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.

by Roden Berkeley Wriothesley Noel

Other poems of RODEN BERKELEY WRIOTHESLEY NOEL (90)

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