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75
Monday Evening
The stars are shining in their wonted stillness
And darkness fills wraps the melancholy deeps;
The many colored tints of day are faded,
In the black hall of night existence sleeps.
'Tis silence all; – save where the dry leaves falling
Are shaken scattered by the evening breezes of the hill;
While the cold dew is on the dark sod sprinkled
And the white daisies all the And the damp meets the shadowed vallies fill.
All, all is hurrying to decay & ruin
Mortality must triumph – as the wreaths
Fades on the harp – tho' sweet its living music,
Life is the slave – the helpless slave of death. So life is blended with decay & death
Time rolls its mighty waters, – its swift current
Wrecks all man's hopes upon its rocky shore;
Till the grave calls him to her peaceful slumbers
And tears are shed & grief is felt no more.
Rest softly, our forefathers! – ye whose plans
Your children's children occupy – sleep on
Come then our Sons; – & see the rugged journey
Which ye must take, when we, your Sires all give.
Identifier: | JB/110/244/001 "JB/" can not be assigned to a declared number type with value 110.
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001 |
monday evening |
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collectanea |
3 |
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recto |
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sir john bowring |
[[watermarks::[partial motif] <…>19]] |
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1819 |
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36234 |
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