this blossom on your grave.

Outre Mer

I see, as one in dreaming,
A broad, bright, quiet sea;
Beyond it lies a haven--
The only home for me.
Some men grow strong with trouble,
But all my strength is past,
And tired and full of sorrow,
I long to sleep at last.
By force of chance and changes
Man's life is hard at best;
And, seeing rest is voiceless,
The dearest thing is rest.

Beyond the sea--behold it,
The home I wish to seek
The refuge of the weary,
The solace of the weak!
Sweet angel fingers beckon,
Sweet angel voices ask
My soul to cross the waters;
And yet I dread the task.
God help the man whose trials
Are tares that he must reap;
He cannot face the future--
His only hope is sleep.

Across the main a vision
Of sunset coasts and skies,
And widths of waters gleaming,
Enchant my human eyes.
I, who have sinned and suffered,
Have sought--with tears have sought--
To rule my life with goodness,
And shape it to my thought;
And yet there is no refuge
To shield me from distress,
Except the realm of slumber
And great forgetfulness.

[End of Other Poems, 1871-82.]

Note on corrections made: Less than a dozen errors were corrected,
mostly punctuation, and one incorrect letter. However, one correction
is in question. On p. 339 of this 1920 edition, or in this etext,
the 1st line of the 9th stanza of "On a Street", the copy reads:

I tell you, this not a tale

which is neither grammatically nor rhythmically correct,
for the poem in question. It has been corrected as:

I tell you, this is not a tale

which is probably correct. As this is the most serious error
noticed in the text, I trust the reader will find the whole
to be satisfactory.--A. L.

End of Project Gutenberg's The Poems of Henry Kendall, by Henry Kendall

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