Before the morning,
From pain and scorning
I sail death’s river
To sleep or hell.
To you is given
The life of heaven.
Farewell for ever,
Farewell, farewell!
YET A LITTLE SLEEP
Beside the drowsy streams that creep
Within this island of repose,
Oh, let us rest from cares and woes,
Oh, let us fold our hands to sleep!
Is it ignoble, then, to keep
Awhile from where the rough wind blows,
And all is strife, and no man knows
What end awaits him on the deep?
The voyager may rest awhile,
When rest invites, and yet may be
Neither a sluggard nor a craven.
With strength renewed he quits the isle,
And putting out again to sea,
Makes sail for his desirèd haven.
LOST LIBERTY
Of our own will we are not free,
When freedom lies within our power.
We wait for some decisive hour,
To rise and take our liberty.
Still we delay, content to be
Imprisoned in our own high tower.
What is it but a strong-built bower?
Ours are the warders, ours the key.
But we through indolence grow weak.
Our warders, fed with power so long,
Become at last our lords indeed.
We vainly threaten, vainly seek
To move their ruth. The bars are strong.
We dash against them till we bleed.