Page:Eclogues; a book of poems.djvu/36

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WINTER GRIEF

LIFE SO BRIEF …
Yet I am old
with an era of grief.

The earth unveils
a sad nakedness
And her hills
droop round my sorrow.
Into the stillness
living things scream,
And only the nerveless dead
get tranquillity.

From the funereal mould
Late asters blaspheme.



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