Poems (Ripley)/Rest
For works with similar titles, see Rest.
REST
When utterly wearied in body and mind, How sweet upon a couch to lie In a cozy room in the soft twilight, When snowflakes darken the winter sky.
With the firelight from the open grate Flickering on the floor and wall; Where not a disturbing voice is heard, Nor even a passing, light footfall.
Where the only sound is the tick of the clock That sounds the heart-beat of the world; And the great house-cat in his tawny coat Before the fire in a ball lies curled.
And the world with all its restless noise, Afar, within the distance lies—And tortures not the tired ears And blisters not the weary eyes
How sweet it is to thus lie still. An hour or two in quiet peace—Until the weary soul finds rest And from fever and fret it finds release.—
Until we find the old joyousness Spring back to the heart with a merry bound; And we feel like mingling again with the world, Raised up like a drooping flower from the ground.
Then the human voice sounds very sweet To the newly rested heart and brain, That feels as fresh as the woods and hills Just after a light, refreshing rain.