Ere, where the world is quiet, Here, where all trouble seems Dead winds' and spent waves' riot In doubtful dreams Of dreams; I watch the green field growing For reaping folk and sowing, For harvest-time and mowing, A sleepy world of streams.

I am tired of tears and laughter, And men that laugh and weep 5 Of what may come hereafter For men that sow to reap I am weary of days and hours, Blown buds Of barren flowers, Desires and dreams and powers And everything but sleep.

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