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Jude the Obscure
up and to my ash
the unhappy
ever new in my life
if I were clear
I would understand nothing
so I do a weary
elsewhere business at home
Poemas sobre el tema: weariness
Poemas sobre el tema «weariness» en Poets.by.
After Lockup
After lockup
orange sun goes down,
tired reflection.
At Midnight
Now at last I have come to see what life is,
Nothing is ever ended, everything only begun,
And the brave victories that seem so splendid
Are never really won.
Even love that I built my spirit's house for,
Comes like a brooding and a baffled guest,
And music and men's praise and even laughter
Are not so good as rest.
Gray Fog
A fog drifts in, the heavy laden
Cold white ghost of the sea--
One by one the hills go out,
The road and the pepper-tree.
I watch the fog float in at the window
With the whole world gone blind,
Everything, even my longing, drowses,
Even the thoughts in my mind.
I put my head on my hands before me,
There is nothing left to be done or said,
There is nothing to hope for, I am tired,
And heavy as the dead.
Chorus Girl
Her voice was like rose-fragrance waltzing in the wind.
She seemed a shadow stained with shadow colors
Swinging through waves of sunlight.
Perhaps her heart was an old minstrel
Sleepily pawing at his little mandolin.
An Old Workman
Warped... gland-dry...
With spine askew
And body shrunken into half its space...
Well-used as some cracked paving-stone...
Bearing on his grimed and pitted front
A stamp... as of innumerable feet.
Supplication
I am so tired and weary,
So tired of the endless fight,
So weary of waiting the dawn
And finding endless night.
That I ask but rest and quiet -
Rest for days that are gone,
And quiet for the little space
That I must journey on.
Supplication
I am so tired and weary,
So tired of the endless fight,
So weary of waiting the dawn
And finding endless night.
That I ask but rest and quiet--
Rest for the days that are gone,
And quiet for the little space
That I must journey on.
The Grey Veil
Life flings weariness over me
Like a thick grey veil; I see
Through its mesh where suns are cold,
Nights are ancient and dawns are old.
Now at last with glamour gone
I can see the naked dawn;
Gauge the hollow depths of noon,
Coolly question star and moon.
And where fired sunsets pale
I, who wear life's grey veil,
Shall not marvel, shall not care.
No light of earth's however fair.
Robbed of the sting of its surprise,
Can delude my sober eyes.
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.
Slave of the Fire
I AM weary of my service to the blood of a king,
For my people were farmers out of the West,
I would be wife to this yeoman of whom my heart sings.
In his strong love, I would take my rest.
O! That I might raise a man to my kind,
Shelter him in my womb, and feed him with my mind.
Trapped
Well and
If day on day
Follows, and weary year
On year . . . and ever days and years . . .
Well?