Page:Carroll - Three Sunsets.djvu/33

 THE VALLEY OF THE SHADOW OF DEATH.

, said the dying man, and sighed,
 * To that complaining tone—

Like sprite condemned, each eventide,
 * To walk the world alone.

At sunset, when the air is still, I hear it creep from yonder hill: It breathes upon me, dead and chill,
 * A moment, and is gone.

My son, it minds me of a day
 * Left half a life behind,

That I have prayed to put away
 * For ever from my mind.

But bitter memory will not die: It haunts my soul when none is nigh: I hear its whisper in the sigh
 * Of that complaining wind.

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