While all things else have rest from weariness?
All things have rest: why should we toil alone,
We only toil, who are "such clever things!"
And make perpetual moan,
Still from one "Question" to another thrown?
Gulls, even, fold their wings,
And cease their wanderings,
Watching our brows which slumber's holy balm
Bathes gently, whilst the inner spirit sings
"There is no joy but calm!"