 | A Lost Epic and Other Poems |  |
All was still.
The awful silence made her being thrill.
She gathered dust and strewed it on her hair,
And, striking hands together in despair,
Shrieked: “Speak, ere terror blabs abroad my shame,
For dread hath seized on me.”
The awful silence made her being thrill.
She gathered dust and strewed it on her hair,
And, striking hands together in despair,
Shrieked: “Speak, ere terror blabs abroad my shame,
For dread hath seized on me.”
No answer came.
| A Lost Epic and Other Poems | |