1 min read
Слушать(AI)Evenstar
Evenstar, still
If this twilight thou dost
On a more unhappy head,
On tears lonelier than mine,
Vainer prayers and deepest sighs,
Take, sweet spirit, thou that
Comforter of our
All the prayers perforce unsaid,
All the sighs I cannot sigh,
All the tears I cannot shed;
Fill his eyes and flood his heart,
Who, my everlasting kin,
Broods, afar, unknown, apart.
Bring, ah bring him that
From unsolaceable pain,
Which nor prayers, nor tears, nor sighs,
No, nor even the
Presence of thy eternal
Can,
O evenstar, make mine.
Robert Nichols
Robert Malise Bowyer Nichols (6 September 1893 – 17 December 1944) was an English writer, known as a war poet of the First World War, and a play
Comments
You need to be signed in to write comments
Other author posts
The Pilgrim
Put by the sun my joyful soul, We are for darkness that is whole; Put by the wine, now for long We must be thirsty with salt tears;
The Days March
The battery grides and jingles, Mile succeeds to mile; Shaking the noonday The guns lunge out awhile,
PÆan
upon seeing a portrait of Something moves in his dust, Flame sleeps beneath the crust; O whence had he those
Night Rhapsody
How beautiful it is to wake at night, When over all there reigns the ultimate spell Of complete silence, darkness absolute, To feel the world, tilted on axle-tree, In slow gyration, with no sensible sound, Unless to ears of unimagined beings, Resi...