White Lamp With A Dark Secret
"The Song Of Shadows"
Sweep thy faint strings, Musician,
With thy long lean hand;
Downward the starry tapers burn,
Sinks soft the waning sand;
The old hound whimpers couched in sleep,
The embers smoulder low;
Across the walls the shadows
Come, and go.
Sweep softly thy strings, Musician,
The minutes mount to hours;
Frost on the windless casement weaves
A labyrinth of flowers;
Ghosts linger in the darkening air,
Hearken at the open door;
Music hath called them, dreaming,
Home once more."
~ Walter de la Mare
January 16th, 2013
Viewed 260 Times - Last Visitor from Kiez, 12 - Germany on 06/21/2015 at 2:31 AM