(25 November 1890 – 1 April 1918 / Bristol / England)

Through These Pale Cold Days

Through these pale cold days
What dark faces burn
Out of three thousand years,
And their wild eyes yearn,

While underneath their brows
Like waifs their spirits grope
For the pools of Hebron again--
For Lebanon's summer slope.

They leave these blond still days
In dust behind their tread
They see with living eyes
How long they have been dead.

User Rating: 2,6 / 5 ( 32 votes ) 6

Comments (6)

Beautiful poem. heart touching!
Excellent poetry! Well worth a full 10
Nice work with the muse of life around you.
Very difficult to digest the situation in Lebanon!
Superb..............Well written poem.
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