the winter sunset, flaming beyond spires and chimneys half-detached from this dull sphere, (witness the world how worthy to be praised) opens great gates to some forgotten year of elder splendours and divine desires. (twilight and evening bell, and after that the dark. I smile, of course, and go on drinking tea.) and silent answers crept across the stars, there, in a dream-plagued childhood, quite alone I used to go, where night reigned vague and black, wandering companionless among the stars that have a different birth. after such knowledge, what forgiveness? the slaughter never ends. how many deaths shall serve to break at last this heritage which wraps me in the grey apparel of ghosts? I have been one acquainted with the night. bom do dee bom do dee bom bom bom ba do-dee. the white breast of the sea-lark twitters sweet.