Come to the sunset tree! The day is past and gone; The woodman's axe lies free, And the reaper's work is done.
Attribution disputed; shown as originally published.
Come to the sunset tree! The day is past and gone; The woodman's axe lies free, And the reaper's work is done.
Attribution disputed; shown as originally published.
It romanticizes ending work without acknowledging unfinished tasks.
Leaves have their time to fall, And flowers to wither at the north-wind's breath, And stars to set; but all, Thou hast all seasons for thine own, O Death!
I had a hat. It was not all a hat,- Part of the brim was gone: Yet still I wore it on.
Oh, call my brother back to me! I cannot play alone: The summer comes with flower and bee,- Where is my brother gone?
Two hands upon the breast, And labour's done; Two pale feet crossed in rest, The race is won.
Two hands upon the breast, And labour's done; Two pale feet crossed in rest, The race is won.
Lie down among the pines for a while then get to plain pure white love-work to help humanity and other mortals.