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The Autumn Waste Post by :62495 Category :Poems Author :Archibald Lampman Date :June 2011 Read :2859

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The Autumn Waste

There is no break in all the wide grey sky,
Nor light on any field, and the wind grieves,
And talks of death. Where cold grey waters lie
Round greyer stones, and the new-fallen leaves
Heap the chill hollows of the naked woods,
A lisping moan, an inarticulate cry,
Creeps far among the charnel solitudes,
Numbing the waste with mindless misery.
In these bare paths, these melancholy lands,
What dream, or flesh, could ever have been young?
What lovers have gone forth with linked hands?
What flowers could ever have bloomed, what birds have sung?
Life, hopes, and human things seem wrapped away,
With shrouds and spectres, in one long decay.

(The end)
Archibald Lampman's poem: Autumn Waste

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Vivia Perpetua Vivia Perpetua

Vivia Perpetua
Now being on the eve of death, discharged From every mortal hope and earthly care, I questioned how my soul might best employ This hand, and this still wakeful flame of mind, In the brief hours yet left me for their use; Wherefore have I bethought me of my friend, Of you, Philarchus, and your company, Yet wavering in the faith and unconfirmed; Perchance that I may break into thine heart Some sorrowful channel for the love divine, I make this simple record of our proof In diverse sufferings for the name of Christ, Whereof the end already for the most

We Too Shall Sleep We Too Shall Sleep

We Too Shall Sleep
Not, not for thee, Beloved child, the burning grasp of life Shall bruise the tender soul. The noise, and strife, And clamour of midday thou shall not see; But wrapt for ever in thy quiet grave, Too little to have known the earthly lot, Time's clashing hosts above thine innocent head, Wave upon wave, Shall break, or pass as with an army's tread, And harm thee not. A few short years We of the living flesh and restless brain Shall plumb the deeps of life and know the strain, The fleeting gleams of joy, the fruitless tears; And then at last