experimental poem written in the style of English Poetry ca1850’s
cold the twilight in the rolling of the bells,
while earth still breathes the warmth of sunken sun;
slowly i plod to mark the afternoon
revere the solemn hour of the hills.
save where the winds disturb the solitude,
the entire upland in their shadows keep,
ever watchful of where i stepped,
to witness with me returning memories:
alive, all alive against the hillscape
that they seem to flare and be my total breath,
all dreams, prayers, all promises, desires,
from time of birth to this plodding of the hills!
such throbbing fancy,
rushing where grasses bend and cease to bend,
where hills begin to roll, to rise again, and fall
unto deepening twilight, it ends i know not where!
as fade the dreams and images of mind,
a fuller vision in the sunset’s fire
in joy and sorrow, in madness takes to flight
and weave a song of beauty, greatest calm.
for i behold, every ending is my rebirth
every twilight my own beginning
falling each time into sweeter dream
and into the depths of unending sleep!
while glow the upland still with the failing light,
slowly i plod and leave the afternoon
revere the solemn hour of the hills;
cold the twilight in the echoes of the bells.
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