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.
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