Ina Coolbrith

Beside the Dead

It must be sweet, O thou, my dead, to lie 
With hands that folded are from every task, 
Sealed with the seal of the great mystery, - 
The lips that nothing answer, nothing ask; 
The life-long struggle ended; ended quite 
The weariness of patience and of pain; 
And the eyes closed to open not again 
On desolate dawn or dreariness of night. 
It must be sweet to slumber and forget- 
To have the poor tired heart so still, at last: 
Done with all yearning, done with all regret; 
Doubt, fear, hope, sorrow, all for ever past- 
Past all the hours, or slow of wing or fleet- 
It must be sweet, it must be very sweet!