I'VE done with all the world can give,
Whate'er its kind or measure.
(O Christ! what paltry lives we live
If toil be lord, or pleasure!).
Alas! I only yearn for sleep,
Calm rest for fevered riot--
The sacred sleep, the shadows deep,
Of death's majestic quiet.
I've done with all our earth-life lends--
False hopes and wild ambitions,
Brilliant beginnings, futile ends,
And long-postponed fruitions,
Those hollow shows dissembling truth,
Vain myths that mock the real,
The dreary wrecks of peace and youth
Above a crushed ideal.
I've done with heavenly dreams that wane
At touch of earth-born dawnings,
With fervid passion, useless pain,
Brave aims; and dim forewarnings;
I've done with alien tears or smiles,
Past days and vague to-morrows;
I've done with earth's unhallowed wiles,
Brief joys and helpless sorrows.
I've done with compacts sealed in dust,
Dull cares that overweighed me,
With promise of the Judas-trust,
That, while it kissed, betrayed me;
With all save love, whose matchless face
Midmost A life's undoing
Smiles in its tender angel's grace
To sanctify the ruin.
I've done with all beneath the stars,
O world so wanly fleeting!
How long against time's ruthless bars
Have the soul's wings been beating,
Till even the soul but yearns for sleep,
Calm rest for fevered riot--
The sacred sleep, the shadows deep,
Of death's majestic quiet!
