Poems by Jean Ingelow, In Two Volumes, Volume I. by Jean Ingelow
page 75 of 413 (18%)
page 75 of 413 (18%)
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God's youngest, latest born, as if, some spars
And a little clay being over of them--He Had made our world and us thereof, yet given, To humble us, the sight of His great heaven. "But ah! my son, to-night mine eyes have seen The death of light, the end of old renown; A shrinking back of glory that had been, A dread eclipse before the Eternal's frown. How soon a little grass will grow between These eyes and those appointed to look down Upon a world that was not made on high Till the last scenes of their long empiry! "To-night that shining cluster now despoiled Lay in day's wake a perfect sisterhood; Sweet was its light to me that long had toiled, It gleamed and trembled o'er the distant wood, Blown in a pile the clouds from it recoiled, Cool twilight up the sky her way made good; I saw, but not believed--it was so strange-- That one of those same stars had suffered change. "The darkness gathered, and methought she spread, Wrapped in a reddish haze that waxed and waned; But notwithstanding to myself I said-- 'The stars are changeless; sure some mote hath stained Mine eyes, and her fair glory minishèd.' Of age and failing vision I complained, And I bought 'some vapor in the heavens doth swim, |
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