 | War-lyrics and other poems |  |
SUSPIRIA NOCTIS.
Reading, and reading—little is the gain
Long dwelling with the minds of dead men leaves.
List rather to the melancholy rain,
Drop—dropping from the eaves.
Long dwelling with the minds of dead men leaves.
List rather to the melancholy rain,
Drop—dropping from the eaves.
Still the old tale—how hardly worth the telling!
Hark to the wind!—again that mournful sound,
That, all night long, around this lonely dwelling,
Moans like a dying hound.
Hark to the wind!—again that mournful sound,
That, all night long, around this lonely dwelling,
Moans like a dying hound.
| War-lyrics and other poems | |