I am tired of tears and laughter,
And men that laugh and weep;
Of what may come hereafter
For men that sow and reap:
I am weary of days and hours,
Blown buds of barren flowers
Desires and dreams and powers
And everything but sleep.
From to much love of living,
From hope and fear set free,
We thank with brief thanksgiving
Whatever gods may be
That dead men rise up never;
That even the weariest river
Winds somewhere to sea.