Explore "Weariness" by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
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, / With passions into ashes turned / 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!