Classic Poem

Time comes to grief as Sleep to weariness —
On silent sandals and with shadowy hair
Sleep bends to soothe the fretful daytime care,
And Time unto my grief shall do no less.
But yet a little and his hands shall press
Above the weeping eyes and close them there,
Above the trembling lips, till all despair
Lie like a sleeping child in his caress.
And when my sorrow wakes it will not be
My sorrow any more, for I shall smile,
Beholding it, to know it comforted;
No sorrow, but a gracious memory
That still may walk with me a little while
At twilight, or when April boughs are spread.