Unrest

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Unrest

Comes there, O Earth, no breathing time for thee,

No pause upon thy many-chequered lands?

Now resting on my bed with listless hands

I mourn thee resting not. Continually

Hear I the plashing borders of the sea

Answer each other from the rocks and sands!

Troop all the rivers seawards; nothing stands,

But with strange noises hasteth terribly!

Loam-eared hyenas go a moaning by;

Howls to each other all the bloody crew

Of Afric’s tigers! but, O men, from you

Comes this perpetual sound more loud and high

Than aught that vexes air! I hear the cry

Of infant generations rising too!