For Afterwards A Man Finds Pleasure In

Now From His Breast Into The Eyes The Ache Of Longing Mounted, And He Wept At Last, His Dear Wife, Clear And Faithful, In His Arms, Longed For As The Sunwarmed Earth Is Longed For By A Swimmer Spent In Rough Water Where His Ship Went Down Under Poseidon's Blows, Gale Winds And Tons Of Sea. Few Men Can Keep Alive Through A Big Serf To Crawl, Clotted With Brine, On Kindly Beaches In Joy, In Joy, Knowing The Abyss Behind: And So She Too Rejoiced, Her Gaze Upon Her Husband, Her White Arms Round Him Pressed As Though Forever.

The Persuasion Of A Friend Is A Strong Thing.

Earth Sounds My Wisdom, And High Heaven My Fame.

There Is A Fullness Of All Things, Even Of Sleep And Love.

These Nights Are Endless, And A Man Can Sleep Through Them, Or He Can Enjoy Listening To Stories, And You Have No Need To Go To Bed Before It Is Time. Too Much Sleep Is Only A Bore. And Of The Others, Any One Whose Heart And Spirit Urge Him Can Go Outside And Sleep, And Then, When The Dawn Shows, Breakfast First, Then Go Out To Tend The Swine Of Our Master. But We Two, Sitting Here In The Shelter, Eating And Drinking, Shall Entertain Each Other Remembering And Retelling Our Sad Sorrows. For Afterwards A Man Who Has Suffered Much And Wandered Much Has Pleasure Out Of His Sorrows.