Along the shore the slimy brine-pits yawn,
Covered with thick green scum; the billows rise,
And fill them to the brim with clouded foam,
And then subside, and leave the scum again.
The ribbed sand is full of hollow gulfs,
Where monsters from the waters...
|
Songs Tell me first how folded flowers |
There are gains for all our losses, We are stronger, and are better, |
The divan Thou little girl of Astrakan, |
It is dark and lonesome here, If it be day, or night, |
Not as when some great Captain falls To doom, by some stray ball struck dead: |
The angel came by night |
“there are gains for all our losses.” Youth has gone, and hope gone with it, |
“under the roots of the roses, “Under the awful wings |
Last night, when my tired eyes were shut with sleep, |