The Old

They are waiting on the shore

For the bark to take them home:

They will toil and grieve no more;

The hour for release hath come.

All their long life lies behind

Like a dimly blending dream:

There is nothing left to bind

To the realms that only seem.

They are waiting for the boat;

There is nothing left to do:

What was near them grows remote,

Happy silence falls like dew;

Now the shadowy bark is come,

And the weary may go home.

By still water they would rest

In the shadow of the tree:

After battle sleep is best,

After noise, tranquillity.