Walter John De la Mare in PlovdivLit

 

Alone  4.47 / 5

The abode of the nightingale is bare,

Flowered frost congeals in the gelid air,

The fox howls from his frozen lair:

Alas, my loved one is gone,

I am alone:

It is winter.

 

Once the pink cast a winy smell,

The wild bee hung in the hyacinth bell,

Light in effulgence of beauty fell:

I am alone:

It is winter.

 

My candle a silent fire doth shed,

Starry Orion hunts o'erhead;

Come moth, come shadow, the world is dead:

Alas, my loved one is gone,

I am alone;

It is winter.

 

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