Author Richard Henry Dana “There 's none to meet me, none to cheer: The seats are empty,—lights burnt out; And I, alone, must sit me here: Would I could hear their shout!”He ne'er shall hear it more,—more taste his wine!Silent he sits within the still moonshine. Tags Short Poems Rate this poem Select ratingGive it 1/5Give it 2/5Give it 3/5Give it 4/5Give it 5/5 No votes yet Rate Log in or register to post comments