The Months have ends — the Years — a knot —
No Power can untie
To stretch a little further
A Skein of Misery —
The Earth lays back these tired lives
In her mysterious Drawers —
Too tenderly, that any doubt
An ultimate Repose —
The manner of the Children —
Who weary of the Day —
Themself — the noisy Plaything
They cannot put away —
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