We are not sure of sorrow, And joy was never sure; Today will die tomorrow; Time stoops to no man's lure; And love, grown faint and fretful, With lips but half regretful Weeps that no love endures.
From too much love of living, From hope and fear set free, We thank with brief thanksgiving Whatever God may see, That no man lives forever; That dead men rise up never; That even the weariest river Winds somewhere safe to sea.
Here, where the world is quiet; Here, where all trouble seems Dead winds and spent waves' riot In doubtful dreams of dreams; I watch the green field growing For reaping folk and sowing, For harvest time and mowing, A sleepy world of streams.
I am tired of tears and laughter, And men that laugh and weep Of what may come hereafter For men that sow to reap: I am weary of days and hours, Blown buds of barren flowers Desires and dreams, and powers And everything but sleep.