Song of the Weary Traveller
I am weary. I would rest
On the wide earth’s swelling breast,
Nurtured by the quiet sod
Where the fragrant dew has trod,
Soothed by all the winds that pass,
Hearing voices in the grass
Of the little insect things
Happier than the mightiest kings!
I am weary. I would sleep
In some quiet perfumed deep
Where no human touch could bring
Tears to me or anything.
There I would forget to weep
And my silent cloister keep,—
There I would the earth embrace
Meeting Beauty face to face.
I am weary. I would go
Where the fields are white with snow,
Where the violets are lain
Far from human strife and pain—
Far from longing and delight,
Thro’ the endless starry night,
There I would forget to weep,
And my silent cloister keep.
Blanche Shoemaker Wagstaff