The land's sharp features seemed to be The Century's corpse outleant, His crypt the cloudy canopy, The wind his death-lament. The ancient pulse of germ and birth Was shrunken hard and dry, And every spirit upon earth Seemed fervourless as I.
Hello again. It occurred to me that I never gave you the rest of this poem, and what a shame that was. This is the second stanza of four. Would you like the rest? I considered saving the other two stanzas for another day, but the tone of these lines sets a bleak mood and does not presently suit mine.
And I thought, perhaps, that should thank you properly for your part in that difference.
[backdated to two days after that mess of a sleepr post]
The Century's corpse outleant,
His crypt the cloudy canopy,
The wind his death-lament.
The ancient pulse of germ and birth
Was shrunken hard and dry,
And every spirit upon earth
Seemed fervourless as I.
Hello again. It occurred to me that I never gave you the rest of this poem, and what a shame that was. This is the second stanza of four. Would you like the rest? I considered saving the other two stanzas for another day, but the tone of these lines sets a bleak mood and does not presently suit mine.
And I thought, perhaps, that should thank you properly for your part in that difference.