Wednesday, August 30, 2017


WHERE Harold sleeps the night is blest.
In the Great Mother's easeful breast
     He lies the brave and sweet among
     Who, loved by the wise gods, die young—
The goal achieved without the quest.

Though winds of Autumn from the West
May rudely rock the unsheltered nest,
     Yet shall all joys of Spring be sung
               Where Harold sleeps;

And we, our human griefs confessed,
We, too, by a dear hope caressed—
     Death's hope illimitable, sprung
     From nothing that to earth hath clung—
Shall, waiting a new dawn, find rest
               Where Harold sleeps!
"Where Harold Sleeps" by Florence Earle Coates. Published in Lippincott's Monthly Magazine (September 1914) and Poems (1916) Volume II.

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