By George Sterling

Not evermore, O universe of pain,
  Shalt thou give agony to my dear dead!
  For they shall sleep no more uncomforted,
Nor wake again to hear the midnight rain.
No longer shall they sow a bitter grain
  Nor labor for a visionary bread:
  The tears are dried, the hungry mouths are fed,
They find the peace for which they sought in vain.

They are removed from folly and from care,
From love that died, from anguish and despair.
  Pain's vultures shall go over in their flight,
    Nor see them where they lie, nor  break their sleep
    Who have found refuge in the unsounded Deep
  And are made safe in its eternal night.

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