The Old

By Roden Berkeley Wriothesley Noel

1834-1894


THEY are waiting on the shore
         For the bark to take them home:
They will toil and grieve no more;
         The hour for release hath come.

All their long life lies behind
         Like a dimly blending dream:
There is nothing left to bind
         To the realms that only seem.

They are waiting for the boat;
         There is nothing left to do:
What was near them grows remote,
         Happy silence falls like dew;
Now the shadowy bark is come,
         And the weary may go home.

By still water they would rest
         In the shadow of the tree:
After battle sleep is best,
         After noise, tranquillity.

DayPoems Poem No. 752
<a href="http://www.daypoems.net/poems/752.html">The Old by Roden Berkeley Wriothesley Noel</a>

The DayPoems Poetry Collection, www.daypoems.net
Timothy Bovee, editor

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