Poems of Paul Verlaine by Paul Verlaine
page 39 of 51 (76%)
page 39 of 51 (76%)
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The solitary soul is heart-sick with a vile
Ennui. Down yon, they say, War's torches bloody shine. Alas, to be so faint of will, one must resign The chance of brave adventure in the splendid file,-- Of death, perchance! Alas, so lagging in desire! Ah, all is drunk! Bathyllus, hast done laughing, pray? Ah, all is drunk,--all eaten! Nothing more to say! Alone, a vapid verse one tosses in the fire; Alone, a somewhat thievish slave neglecting one; Alone, a vague disgust of all beneath the sun! Naguere [Illustration: "Crepuscule du Soir Mystique."] PROLOGUE Glimm'ring twilight things are these, Visions of the end of night. Truth, thou lightest them, I wis, Only with a distant light, Whitening through the hated shade In such grudging dim degrees, One must doubt if they be made |
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