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

 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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