REST

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.