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Poem by Stephen Vincent Benet


Nos Immortales


Perhaps we go with wind and cloud and sun, 
Into the free companionship of air; 
Perhaps with sunsets when the day is done, 
AllТs one to me -- I do not greatly care; 
So long as there are brown hills -- and a tree 
Like a mad prophet in a land of dearth -- 
And I can lie and hear eternally 
The vast monotonous breathing of the earth. 

I have known hours, slow and golden-glowing, 
Lovely with laughter and suffused with light, 
O Lord, in such a time appoint my going, 
When the hands clench, and the cold face grows white, 
And the spark dies within the feeble brain, 
Spilling its star-dust back to dust again.



Stephen Vincent Benet


Stephen Vincent Benet's other poems:
  1. Rain after a Vaudeville Show
  2. The City Revisited
  3. Before an Examination
  4. Nightmare Number Three
  5. The Congressmen Came out to See Bull Run


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