Classic Poem

There is one who all day wishes to die,
And appeals for it — without a reason why —
Since Death is easy if men are merciful.
Water and land with chances are packed full.
Who all day wishes to die. How many ages
Have denied Death so — who reads old-written pages
And finds " This man suffered and prayed for Death,
And went beyond this, desire of life beneath"?
Bitterly, bitterly, and though he feels his wrongs,
And once took pride in verse-making and in songs,
Yet now, yet now would wish to rest, and be
Out of pain, out of life, quietly, as quietly
As pained men ever were meant to rest.
Humanity knows earth to have as quiet a breast
As ever mother's to a longing child.
Therefore in mercy let rest, let rest this wild,
Or show hard torment, or of fear of such
Let rest, out of the fear of any pain's touch.
If men will not honour, nor find employ,
Will common mercy not forget what was wrong,
Remember what was good — a maker of song
Asks, desires, has prayed for mercy of Death
To end all, lie still, quiet green turf beneath,
Since promises forgotten are, and friendliness
Between so many men and him? The address
Of courtesy to casual wayfarers,
Small presents, courtesy of peace and wars —
To rest from pain, to trouble no one more —
Under green turf-mound, or by friendly shore
That will with rocking water lull his peace
That cannot now find hope nor strength nor ease.
To be let rest in mercy — to know an end
Of surety, Death's quiet surest of friend,
And what men would not, let calm Nature mend.