By George Sterling

"Peace! Peace!" we cry and find awhile in sleep
A sense of its compassion, till the day
Gives other dreams, as facile to betray,
And broken are the dreams we could not keep.
There lie the shallows where we sought the deep,—
  The rest-house where no mortal shall delay,—
  The tiger-haunted garden by the way,
Where soon or late each reveller must weep.

The dim foundations of the spirit's house Are based on darkness, and in darkness end The ghostly turrets, giving on no star. There is no peace until the troubled brows Go down in dust, and those twain midnights blend To that old Shadow where no shadows are.

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