Attempt > Volume 1 and Select writings

68
THE ATTEMPT
SLeeg of
Wake him not yet, while balmy sleep is shedding
Its freshening dews upon his careworn heart;
Let the tired feet, so late earth’s dry ways treading,
Into green bye-paths for a while depart.
It may he that his native breezes straying
By his glad boyhood’s woods and singing streams,
Once more upon his faded cheek are playing,
Laden with parted echoes through his dreams.
Wake him not yet—its weary lines unbending
Care from his furrowed brow hath passed away,
Some old home strain, perchance, even now is sending
Through his hushed soul its long-forgotten lay.
Some household song, through many a sad year sleeping
In the lone depths of memory’s haunted cells,
Heard on fair eves, when twilight skies were weeping
Soft dews upon the wild flowers’ trembling hells.
Wake him not yet—his dimmed and languid vision
Is gazing on a brighter world than ours,
Where his departed roam through fields Elysian,
Bright with the hues of amaranthine flowers.
Eamiliar tones and parted smiles are greeting
His wandering spirit on that radiant shore;
And gentle hands, in fond embrace are meeting,
That clasp his own in happy homes no more.
Wake him not yet—his sleep-hound soul forsaking,
Those dreams will fade when stars and shadows wane,
And he once more, with early dawn he taking
Along the earth his lonely way again.
J. I. L.