Nature
As a fond mother, when the day is o’er,
. . . .Leads by the hand her little child to bed,
. . . .Half willing, half reluctant to be led,
. . . .And leave his broken playthings on the floor,
Still gazing at them through the open door,
. . . .Nor wholly reassured and comforted
. . . .By promises of others in their stead,
. . . .Which, though more splendid, may not please him more;
So Nature deals with us, and takes away
. . . .Our playthings one by one, and by the hand
. . . .Leads us to rest so gently, that we go
Scarce knowing if we wish to go or stay,
. . . .Being too full of sleep to understand
. . . .How far the unknown transcends the what we know.
by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (1807–1882)
Photo by Christine Klocek-Lim
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