---

Ada Cambridge - Tired
Work rating: Low

O for wings! that I might soar 
A little way above the floor, 
A little way beyond the roar— 

A little nearer to the sky! 
To the blue hills, lifted high 
Out of all our misery. 

Where alone is heard the lark, 
Warbling in the infinite arc 
From the dawning to the dark; 

Where the callow eaglets wink 
On the bare and breezy brink, 
And slow pinions rise and sink. 
Where the dim white breakers beat 
Under cloud-drifts at our feet, 
Singing, singing, low and sweet; 

Where we see the glimmering bay 
Greyly melting far away, 
On the confines of the day; 

Where the green larch-fringes sweep 
Rocky defiles, still and steep; 
Where the tender lichens creep; 

Where the gentian-blossoms blow, 
Set in crystal stars of snow; 
Where the downward torrents flow 

To the plains and yellow leas, 
Glancing, twinkling through the trees— 
Pure, as from celestial seas. 
Where the face of heaven has smiled 
Aye on freedom, sweet and wild, 
Aye on beauty undefiled. 

Where no sound of human speech, 
And no human passions, reach; 
Where the angels sit and teach. 

Where no troublous foot has trod; 
Where is impressed on the sod 
Only hand and heart of God!
Source
The script ran 0.001 seconds.