The Taciturn

Countless these crosses and these ruinous stones,
Which taunt the living with but sighs and groans!
Thou canst not in this quiet a moment stray
But dust cries, Vanity! and, Welladay!
Not mine such tedious tidings, Stranger. Yet,
Think not because I am silent, I forget.
Translation: 
Language: 
Rate this poem: 

Reviews

No reviews yet.