EARLIER POEMS
Flame-like, heaps through the hours
Thine ashen sorrow and sadness.
Thine ashen sorrow and sadness.
Blinded by noon-day splendor,
Unseeing till darkness return,
Thy cinereous pinions yearn
For stone-colored night. Surrender
Thy spirit. Is not the sighing
Monotony sweet? Maybe
Creation is what we call dying,
As daylight is darkness to thee.
Unseeing till darkness return,
Thy cinereous pinions yearn
For stone-colored night. Surrender
Thy spirit. Is not the sighing
Monotony sweet? Maybe
Creation is what we call dying,
As daylight is darkness to thee.
[79]
