Among the Hills: Prelude [excerpt]
No time is this for hands long overworn To task their strength; and (unto Him be praise Who giveth quietness!) the stress and strain Of years that did the work of centuries Have ceased, and we can draw our breath once more Freely and full. So, as yon harvesters Make glad their nooning underneath the elms With tale and riddle and old snatch of song, I lay aside grave themes, and idly turn The leaves of Memory's sketch-book, dreaming o'er Old summer pictures of the quiet hills, And human life, as quiet, at their feet.
From John Greenleaf Whittier: Selected Poems (American Poets Project). Published by Library of America, 2004.