ALL the moon-shed nights are over, And the days of gray and dun; There is neither may nor clover, And the day and night are one. Not an hamlet, not a city Meets our strained and tearless eyes; In the plain without a pity, Where the wan grass droops and dies. We shall wander through the meaning Of a day and see no light, For our lichened arms are leaning On the ends of endless night. We, the children of Astarte, Dear abortions of the moon, In a gay and silent party, We are riding to you soon. Burning ramparts, ever burning! To the flame which never dies We are yearning, yearning, yearning, With our gay and tearless eyes. In the plain without a pity, (Not an hamlet, not a city) Where the wan grass droops and dies. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SONNET by EDWIN ARLINGTON ROBINSON LAMENT by WILFRID WILSON GIBSON TOWARDS DEMOCRACY: PART 4. THE WANDERING PSYCHE by EDWARD CARPENTER |