As a fond mother, when the day is o'er,
Leads by the hand her little child to bed,
Half willing, half reluctant to be led,
And leave his broken playthings on the floor,
Still gazing at them through the open door,
Nor wholly reassured and comforted
By promises of others in their stead,
Which though more splendid, may not please him more;
So Nature deals with us, and takes away
Our playthings one by one, and by the hand
Leads us to rest so gently, that we go
Scarce knowing if we wish to go or stay,
Being too full of sleep to understand
How far the unknown transcends the what we know.
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Comments
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Stunning
This is really a fantastic poem. More than likely one of those poems that should have taken a lot more credit than it has. The idea that he presents here takes me away. That goes to show you that not all of the treasure is the most advertized works.
This was golden.
"Scarce knowing if we wish to go or stay,
Being too full of sleep to understand"
Mmm.
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