Roden Berkeley Wriothesley Noel

(1834-1894 / England)

The Old

THEY are waiting on the shore
   For the bark to take them home:
They will toil and grieve no more;
   The hour for release hath come.

All their long life lies behind
   Like a dimly blending dream:
There is nothing left to bind
   To the realms that only seem.

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