<h2><SPAN name="page18"></SPAN><span class="pagenum"></span>UNREST</h2>
<p class="poetry">In the youth of the year, when the birds were
building,<br/>
When the green was showing on tree and hedge,<br/>
And the tenderest light of all lights was gilding<br/>
The world from zenith to outermost edge,<br/>
My soul grew sad and longingly lonely!<br/>
I sighed for the season of sun and rose,<br/>
And I said, “In the Summer and that time only<br/>
Lies sweet contentment and blest repose.”</p>
<p class="poetry">With bee and bird for her maids of honour<br/>
Came Princess Summer in robes of green.<br/>
And the King of day smiled down upon her<br/>
And wooed her, and won her, and made her queen.<br/>
Fruit of their union and true love’s pledges,<br/>
Beautiful roses bloomed day by day,<br/>
And rambled in gardens and hid in hedges<br/>
Like royal children in sportive play.</p>
<p class="poetry"><SPAN name="page19"></SPAN><span class="pagenum">p.
19</span>My restless soul for a little season<br/>
Revelled in rapture of glow and bloom,<br/>
And then, like a subject who harbours treason,<br/>
Grew full of rebellion and grey with gloom.<br/>
And I said, “I am sick of the summer’s blisses,<br/>
Of warmth and beauty, and nothing more.<br/>
The full fruition my sad soul misses<br/>
That beauteous Fall-time holds in store!”</p>
<p class="poetry">But now when the colours are almost
blinding,<br/>
Burning and blending on bush and tree,<br/>
And the rarest fruits are mine for the finding,<br/>
And the year is ripe as a year can be,<br/>
My soul complains in the same old fashion;<br/>
Crying aloud in my troubled breast<br/>
Is the same old longing, the same old passion.<br/>
O where is the treasure which men call rest?</p>
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