Among the Millet

by Archibald Lampman


 

UNREST


 

All day upon the garden bright
    The suns shines strong,
But in my heart there is no light,
    Or any song.

Voices of merry life go by,                                5
    Adown the street;
But I am weary of the cry
    And drift of feet.

With all dear things that ought to please
    The hours are blessed,                                10
And yet my soul is ill at ease,
    And cannot rest.

Strange spirit, leave me not too long,
    Nor stint to give,
For if my soul have no sweet song,                15
    It cannot live.