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The Wanderer Post by :joystroker Category :Poems Author :Helen Hay Whitney Date :October 2011 Read :1378

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The Wanderer

Have I finished my life, am I done?
Is my heart-blood thin and cold,
That I gnaw the bones of the town?
Am I empty and old?

My flags are the chimneys' grime,
Tossed on a languid breeze.
Have I dreamed of the roaring rhyme,
A storm through the trees?

The snow in the streets is black,
Profaned with the city's sin;
I know of a star-lit track
Where God's hand has been.

Have I finished with snow and sun,
With the wind on the open plain,
That I starve in the barren town--
Is my life in vain?

(The end)
Helen Hay Whitney's poem: Wanderer

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False False

The black sky stretches to the pallid sea, As a false love and a dismantled heart. Empty of faith and eager to depart. He takes her yet once more, submissively, Against his lips, then, laughing, drifts away Swiftly within the dawning of the day. Blindly she tosses up her foam-white hands, Crying for mercy, and the wind--her hair-- Lashes the wide-sailed ships and leaves them bare. Blindly she hurls her rage against the sands. There, in the cold sky where her love had lain Scornful,

On The White Road On The White Road

On The White Road
There's a white, white road lies under the swinging moon, Stretched from the black of the deep to the black of the deep, And midway the graveyard lies, with its leaves a-croon, The only sound of the world, like a dream in sleep. There's a white, white grave lies under the graveyard trees, Hung on the road as a single pearl on a thread, And silence waits, beast crouched, on the rim of the breeze, That moans where the only man in the world lies dead.(The end)Helen Hay Whitney's poem: On The White