Roadside Rest
Such quiet sleep has come to them!
The Springs and Autumns pass,
Nor do they know if it be snow
Or daisies in the grass.
All day the birches bend to hear
The river’s undertone;
Across the hush a fluting thrush
Sings even-song alone.
But down their dream there drifts no sound,
The winds may sob and stir:
On the still breast of Peace they rest
And they are glad of her.
They ask not any gift—they mind
Nor any foot that fares,
Unheededly life passes by—
Such quiet sleep is theirs.
ARTHUR KETCHUM