English poem
Oh! the day is a weary burden, the night is a restless…
by John Reade (1826–)
Oh! the day is a weary burden, the night is a restless strife,— I am sick to the very heart of my soul of this life—this death in life! Oh! that the glorious, changeless sun would draw me up in his might, And quench my dreariness in the flood of his everlasting light!
More by John Reade
- O grand, old woods, your forest-sires were thus as bright…
- O man! how oft thy acts have lied
- October’s woods are bright and gay, a thousand colours vie
- Of the shadowy distant ages
- On a Dead Field-Flower
- On these his sun of genius shone
- Our land is flushed with love; through the wealth of her…
- Per Noctem Plurima Volvens