Daily Whitman

sleeping-midnight

A Clear Midnight

  This is thy hour O Soul, thy free flight into the wordless,
  Away from books, away from art, the day erased, the lesson done,
  Thee fully forth emerging, silent, gazing, pondering the themes thou
      lovest best,
  Night, sleep, death and the stars.

 

Posted on 13/08/2015, in literature, poetry and tagged , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink. Leave a comment.

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