3.18.2013

The Song at the Window

it is addressed thusly:
A song.
it reads:
While we sat, through wired glass
The morning that watched us grew
Not warm light as the hall we knew
Was it gray in sight or did, alas
Gray make true the face to pass
Each morning through our window
Our repast undimmed, it had seemed
Would be silver-rimmed, as I dreamed
Under silver cloud, with gold below
More time allowed us to speak
And laugh merry, as if to keep
The morning tarrying at our door --
How unnatural it does appear
That sunfall would be so drear
Unto mere flickering of fluor?
But season-seasoning must be
In quiet accord with star and sea
In a word, the gray morning would pass
While we sat, through wired glass.

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