DIRGE IN WOODS
by: George Meredith
- WIND sways
the pines,
- And below
- Not a breath of wild air;
- Still as the mosses that glow
- On the flooring and over the lines
- Of the roots here and there.
- The pine-tree drops its dead;
- They are quiet, as under the sea.
- Overhead, overhead
- Rushes life in a race,
- As the clouds the clouds chase;
- And we go,
- And we drop like the fruits of the tree,
- Even we,
- Even so.
'Dirge in Woods' is reprinted from
An Anthology of Modern Verse. Ed. A. Methuen. London:
Methuen & Co., 1921. |
MORE
POEMS BY GEORGE MEREDITH |
|