The Unremitting Weariness

I AM SO tired I cannot move, I would sit still and love. I carried souls so long in pain, I too would be a child again.

Man who is not child to woman Is either rogue or more than human. — I rested once upon my father's strength: O to find peace in love at length!

Man, are you strong to take my proffered hand, And to be kind when you command? There was a saint who carried children up a steep, Make me your child, and let me sleep.