{"id":9275,"date":"2023-04-24T01:00:00","date_gmt":"2023-04-24T05:00:00","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.newspaperhistory.com\/?p=9275"},"modified":"2023-04-24T01:00:00","modified_gmt":"2023-04-24T05:00:00","slug":"rest","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/desperaudio.com\/newspaperpoetry\/rest\/","title":{"rendered":"Rest"},"content":{"rendered":"\n

From The Bridgeport Evening Farmer, April 24, 1915<\/a>. By Almont Barnes.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n\n

Burn low, O light, and let the darkness in!    Let silence be where fitful sounds have been;Let soul to body be no more a mate;    Let each, too tired, be sweetly desolate.<\/p>\n\n\n\n\n

Yea, let the soul, e\u2019en as a too loved bride,    Turn gently from its sacred body\u2019s side;Love slumber more than love; turn and be still;    Now that they both, or not, have had their will.<\/p>\n\n\n\n\n

What matters it? They both are tired to death;    They, married with the breathing of a breath,Would gather up the feet and be at rest,    Content to be oblivious of the best\u2014<\/p>\n\n\n\n\n

And happier so all discord to elude,    All bitter pain, in that great solitudeThat reaches like a sea, cool, infinite,    O\u2019er folded hands and lips to memory sweet\u2014<\/p>\n\n\n\n\n

A sea of grassy waves, foam fringed with flowers,    The tenderest gift of any gift of ours;For lo, the last of all, with floral wile    We woo the mutest thing, the grave, to smile.<\/p>\n\n\n\n\n

If one goes gladly, at the close of day,    Puts all the playthings of his world away,Pulls down the curtain, lays his aching head    And weary body on a downy bed\u2014<\/p>\n\n\n\n\n

Divested of all care, but robbed in sleep,    Not any one will make it cause to weep;Then after one sigh, if there be no breath,    What rest is kindlier than the sleep of death?<\/p>\n\n\n\n\n

O soul, we each have wearied! Let us turn    Both breast from breast. There is no more to learn.There may be dawn beyond the midnight\u2019s pall;    But now sweet rest is better\u2014best of all.<\/p>\n\n\n\n\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

From The Bridgeport Evening Farmer, April 24, 1915. By Almont Barnes. Burn low, O light, and let the darkness in!    Let silence be where fitful sounds have been;Let soul to body be no more a mate;    Let each, too tired, be sweetly desolate. Yea, let the soul, e\u2019en as a too loved bride,    Turn gently from its sacred […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[3,10],"tags":[48],"class_list":["post-9275","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-newspapers","category-the-bridgeport-evening-farmer","tag-almont-barnes"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/desperaudio.com\/newspaperpoetry\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/9275","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/desperaudio.com\/newspaperpoetry\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/desperaudio.com\/newspaperpoetry\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/desperaudio.com\/newspaperpoetry\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/desperaudio.com\/newspaperpoetry\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=9275"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/desperaudio.com\/newspaperpoetry\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/9275\/revisions"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/desperaudio.com\/newspaperpoetry\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=9275"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/desperaudio.com\/newspaperpoetry\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=9275"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/desperaudio.com\/newspaperpoetry\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=9275"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}