Publisher's Synopsis
Excerpt from Garland of New Poetry, Vol. 1
Ah, now I listen, I cannot delay In thoughts apart; I must not stay.
The doors are closed and fast: unseen, With stealthy feet I glide between.
I see the sleepers asleep in their beds, Negligent arms, motionless heads; Beautiful in the bloom of slumber, Peaceful armies without number.
Not here I linger: the sigh of those That sleep not, draws me with answered throes.
A mother, mapping her day of cares, On her sleeping baby softly stares.
A youth, by shameful sorrow torn, Thinks on the unendurable morn.
By her husband, a Wife unhappy lies, With bitter heart and open eyes.
An Old man hears the voice Of the wave, His dear son's cold, unquiet grave.
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