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Night HE cried out through the night: "Where is the light? Shall nevermore Open Heaven's door? Oh, I am left Lonely, bereft!" He cried out through the night: It spread vaguely white, With its ghost of a moon Above the dark swoon Of the earth lying chill, Breathless, grave still. He cried out through the night: His voice in its might Rang forth far and far, And then like a star Dwindled from sense In the Immense. He cried out through the night: No answering light, No syllabled sound; Beneath and around A long shuddering thrill Then all again still. James Thomson's other poems:
Poems of another poets with the same name (Стихотворения других поэтов с таким же названием): Распечатать (Print) Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1500 |
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Английская поэзия. Адрес для связи eng-poetry.ru@yandex.ru |