Weary.
Oh, but to rest awhile ! to rest from strife1
That as a fretting chain wears out the soul2
With endless thought ; to gain, and grasp the whole3
Dark mystery that shrouds our earthly life,4
And then to rest, to strive with doubt no more ;5
Unmoved to sit and watch the ceaseless wave6
Of changing creeds roll onward to the shore,7
And cresting break and die ;— unmoved to brave8
The taunts of wild fanatics, and the roar9
Of halting crowds, that in their darkness rave10
Against the light of reason ;— and to be11
Like some fair ship in sheltered haven moored,12
Safe from the storm, by no vain meteor lured13
To track dark phantoms o’er a pathless sea.14