Thomas Henry Kendall,
The Poems of Henry Kendall — At Euroma
(1920)
“ But they never come near to the slumberer here, Whose rest is a rest without change. Ah! in his life, had he mother or wife, To wait for his step on the floor? Did beauty wax dim while watching for him Who passed through the threshold no more? Doth it trouble his head? He is one with the dead; He lies by the alien streams; And sweeter than sleep is death that is deep And unvexed by the lordship of dreams. ”
