Select Poetry.

Akaroa Mail and Banks Peninsula Advertiser, Volume V, Issue 466, 11 January 1881, Page 3

Select Poetry.

TIRED!

(By Thorpe Talbot.)

Why should I shrink from it, tell me, Why should 1 wiah to stay ? all that ever betel! me, Through the course of my life's brief da)'. la there aught that should set me grieving That the end should be so nigh ? Ah. no 1 of life's web and weaving I am tired enough to die.

I know that the earth is lovely, And glad with all gladsome sights, Thnt the vast blue dome above me, With its greater and lesser lights, Is a splendid eternal glory For all mortal eyes to see; But the shadow of Death lies o'er me, And what is it all to mo?

1 have had my time with the flowers,. 1 have had my share of the light; Glftd moments and passionate hours, Great joys of the day and night; The madness of wine and revel, And the calmer, quieter life Of the path that is straight and level, And leads from all sin and strife.

I h ive lived through my goodly season, I have suffered my share of pain ; In the world's whirl of labour and reason I have taken my loss or gain ; And my very soul is aweary Of the emptiness of it all, And there seemeth now naught so dreary As the things that could once enthrall.

My years are not many in number, My days in the land not long; But oh ! when a child would slumber, All tired of its day's sweet song, Do you bid it. still laugh and waken Because of its day's short length ? Nay ! the measure of life must be taken Not from life's space, but life's strength.

And mine is worn out —and gladly I look to the time of rest; To many Death conieth sadly, To me he is welcome guest; Of the feverish joys that hurry Man's manifold moments here, There is none that tempts me to tarry, None worthy a smile or tear.

And when so near to the portal That leadeth to dust and peace ; Or—if souls be immortal— To the land where pain shall cease, Is it well to look back desiring To travel old ground again ; — Old ground so uneven and tiring, And measured with milestones of pain ?

No—let the Great Pall close round me ; And I stretch out my tired limbs —so — Of all the world-ties that bound me I am weary, bo let me go ; Let me find an eternal quiet While others still laugh and weep ; Awny from earth's revel and riot, Give me endless, dreamless eleep.