423
The Months have ends—the Years—a knot
No Power can untie
To stretch a little further
A Skein of Misery
The Earth lays back these tired lives
In her mysterious Drawers
Too tenderly, that any doubt
An ultimate Repose
The manner of the Children
Who weary of the Day
Themself—the noisy Plaything
They cannot put away
The Months have ends—the Years—a knot
No Power can untie
To stretch a little further
A Skein of Misery
The Earth lays back these tired lives
In her mysterious Drawers
Too tenderly, that any doubt
An ultimate Repose
The manner of the Children
Who weary of the Day
Themself—the noisy Plaything
They cannot put away
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