by George William Russell
THE TWINKLING mists of green and gold
Afloat in the abyss of air,
From out the window high and old
We watched together there.
The monstrous fabric of the town
Lay black below; the cries of pain
Came to our ears from up and down
The dimly-lighted lane.
Olive, your eyes were turned to me,
Seeking a soul to sympathise:
I wondered what that glow might be,
Olive, within your eyes.
Into your trembling words there passed
The sorrow that was sighed through you:
Pity, a breath from out the vast,
From unknown hollows blew.
Last updated May 02, 2015