I am so tired I cannot move,
I would sit still and love.
I carried souls so long in pain,
I too would be a child again.

Man who is not child to woman
Is either rogue or more than human —
I rested once upon my father's strength:
O to find peace in love at length!

Man, are you strong to take my proffered hand,
And to be kind when you command?
There was a saint who carried children up a steep,
Make me your child, and let me sleep.