The Months have ends—the Years—a knot
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The Months have ends—the Years—a knot
No Power can untie
To stretch a little further
A Skein of Misery

The Earth lays back these tired lives
In her mysterious Drawers
Too tenderly, that any doubt
An ultimate Repose

The manner of the Children
Who weary of the Day
Themself—the noisy Plaything
They cannot put away