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Poetry > weariness

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message 1: by Mary (new)

Mary Lewis o little feet! that such long years
must wander on through hopes and fears,
must ache and bleed beneath your load;
i, nearer to the wayside inn
where toil shall cease and rest begin,
am weary, thinking of your road!

o little hands! that, weak or strong
have still to serve or rule so long,
have still so long to give or ask;
i, who so much with book and pen
have toiled among my fellow-men,
am weary, thinking of your task.

o little hearts! that throb and beat
with such impatient, feverish heat,
such limitless and strong desires;
mine, that so long has glowed and burned,
now covers and conceals its fires.

o little souls! as pure and white
and crystalline as rays of light
direct from heaven, their source divine;
refracted through the mist of years,
how red my setting sun appears,
how lurid looks this soul of mine!


message 2: by Mary (new)

Mary Lewis one of my favorite longfellow poems.


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