The collected poems of Arthur Edward Waite | ||
PLUMES OF SABLE
Waste, waste, waste,—but the voice in the waste of the sea!The dread, sheer height of an empty night! And the heart—Ah, the heart in me!
I know where the deep is wider, I know of a gloom more dread—
O the waste and the night of the heart, when the star from the heart has fled!
The collected poems of Arthur Edward Waite | ||