ROADSIDE RESTSuch quiet sleep has come to them!The Springs and Autumns pass,Nor do they know if it be snowOr daisies in the grass.All day the birches bend to hearThe river’s undertone;Across the hush a fluting thrushSings even-song alone.But down their dream there drifts no sound,The winds may sob and stir:On the still breast of Peace they restAnd they are glad of her.They ask not any gift—they mindNor any foot that fares,Unheededly life passes by—Such quiet sleep is theirs.ARTHUR KETCHUM
Such quiet sleep has come to them!The Springs and Autumns pass,Nor do they know if it be snowOr daisies in the grass.All day the birches bend to hearThe river’s undertone;Across the hush a fluting thrushSings even-song alone.But down their dream there drifts no sound,The winds may sob and stir:On the still breast of Peace they restAnd they are glad of her.They ask not any gift—they mindNor any foot that fares,Unheededly life passes by—Such quiet sleep is theirs.
ARTHUR KETCHUM