Night-Bound.
R
Robert Crawford
0
Altın Yaprak
Comes the night that brings me rest,
Comes the dark that folds me in
This of all my nights the best,
Nights of virtue, nights of sin.
I can hear a water moan,
And it seems no mortal tide,
But my own grey life that's gone
With the darkness to abide.
Ah! beyond the veil I pierce —
See my pain and pleasure done
In a mouldering universe
Without stars and without sun!
Through my warm red veins the chill
Of Death's coming seems to creep,
Till the world grows ghasty still
To me in my lonely sleep
So I cease: this night is mine;
Other nights for other things!
Comes the gloom that is divine
With the peace for me it brings.
Kamu malı: şairin ölümünün üzerinden 70 yıldan fazla geçti.
Bu şiiri puanla
Henüz puan verilmemiş