I would have rest now, and when the years progressing
Show with star-peopled sky the hour is late,
Call me from trees and flowers and guessing.
Then, in the cool of evening, I shall close the garden gate. Eyes now are tired. Life gives small chance of sleeping,
Only a pull of movement against a patient death;
Yet I love the chaos in whose keeping
This mystic form of living is balanced on a breath. I but a germ, yet fashioned of His reason
With feet of dreaming where no feet have been.
To weep, to laugh I know, and in due season
After the end of dreaming, to see and to be seen. All tomorrow's seas of blue with cloud-ships sailing
Above your puzzled eyes to some port within His hand;
I shall have proof of what our hearts are proving,
And shall be knowing what we cannot understand.