Slumber



Pale, without name or number,
    In fruitless fields of corn,
They bow themselves and slumber
    All night till light is born;
And like a soul belated,
In hell and heaven unmated,
By cloud and mist abated
    Comes out of darkness morn.

-Algernon Charles Swinburne (1837-1909),
The Garden of Proserpine







images © 2000 by Randy Wang
up | home | me | donate | email