Verse > Anthologies > Andrew Macphail, ed. > The Book of Sorrow
Andrew Macphail, comp.  The Book of Sorrow.  1916.
II. Rest
Ex humo
SHOULD you dream ever of the days departed,
Of youth and morning, no more to return,—
Forget not me, so fond and passionate-hearted,
        Quiet at last reposing
        Under the moss and fern.        5
There where the fretful lake in stormy weather
Comes circling round the reddening churchyard pines,
Rest—and call back the hours we lost together
        Talking of hope, and soaring
        Beyond poor Earth’s confines.        10
If, for these heavenly dreams too dimly sighted,
You become false—why, ’tis a story old;
I, overcome by pain, and unrequited,
        Faded at last, and slumber
        Under the Autumn mould.        15
Farewell, farewell! No longer plighted lovers,
Doomed for a day to sigh for sweet return;
One lives indeed; one heart the green earth covers—
        Quiet at last—reposing
        Under the moss and fern.        20

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