For my heart was hot and restless, And my life was full of care, And the burden laid upon me Seemed greater than I could bear. Yet whenever I cross the river On its bridge with wooden piers, Like the odor of brine from the ocean Comes the thought of other years. And I think how many thousands Of care-encumbered men, Each bearing his burden of sorrow, Have crossed the bridge since then. As the symbol of love in heaven, And its wavering image here. Dealing its dole, The Curfew Bell Is beginning to toll.
All footsteps retire.
And the hand that has written it Lays it away. Song sinks into silence, The story is told, The windows are darkened, The hearth-stone is cold. Darker and darker The black shadows fall, Sleep and oblivion Reign over all. In quiet lie. In the top of the uppermost bough.