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Title: A Song Of Rest
Author: Edmund Vance Cooke [
More Titles by Cooke]
I have sung the song of striving,
Of the struggling, of arriving,
Of making of one's self a horse and mounting him and driving!
But now, let's cease;
Let's look for peace.
Let's forget the mark of money,
Let's forget the love of fame.
Life is ours and skies are sunny;
What is worry but a name?
Let's sit down and whiff and whittle,
Let us loaf and laugh a little.
(Here the youngest spoiled the rime
By running to me for a dime.)
I have sung the joy of doing,
Of the pleasure of pursuing,
And how life is like a woman and our role and rule is wooing,
But now, O let
Us cease to fret!
Let us cease our vain desiring;
Water's better than Cliquot;
What is honor but perspiring?
Wealth's another name for woe.
Let us spread out in the clover,
Just too lazy to turn over,--
(Here my wife brought in the news:
All the children need new shoes.)
I have sung the song of action,
Of the sweet of satisfaction
Of pounding, pounding, pounding opposition to a fraction,
But now, let's quit;
Let's rest a bit.
Money only makes us greedy,
Life's success is but a taunt.
He alone is never needy
Who has learned to laugh at want.
Let us loaf and laugh and wallow;
Too much work to even swallow--
(Here's the mail and bills are curses;
I must try to sell these verses.)
[The end]
Edmund Vance Cooke's poem: Song Of Rest
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