Rest by Madison Cawein — Read

Under the brindled beech, / Deep in the mottled shade, / Where the rocks hang in reach / Flower and ferny blade, / Let him be laid.

Here will the brooks, that rove / Under the mossy trees, / Grave with the music of / Underworld melodies, / Lap him in peace.

Here will the winds, that blow / Out of the haunted west, / Gold with the dreams that glow / There on the heaven's breast, / Lull him to rest.

Here will the stars and moon, / Silent and far and deep, / Old with the mystic rune / Of the slow years that creep, / Charm him with sleep.

Under the ancient beech, / Deep in the mossy shade, / Where the hill moods may reach, / Where the hill dreams may aid, / Let him be laid.