Classic Poem

Sometimes must we lie still, too spent to weep,
Longing for rest as deserts long for rain;
Wondering what spirit stirs the tired brain,
Why the poor heart should weary vigil keep;
Denied the peaceful, pleasant touch of sleep
On our pale eyelids; murmuring: " Life is pain;
O for that rest that does not wake again! " —
Then comes a sound of rushing through the air,
And the baked sands drink up the plashing rain;
Sleep soaks our souls in answer to our prayer;
And, marvelous! — the next day life is plain,
Easy and simple, profitable and fair.