Posted by: W. E. Poplaski | September 8, 2009

POEM OF THE DAY: Nos Immortales

Stephen Vincent Benét (1898 – 1943).

Nos Immortales

Perhaps we go with wind and cloud and sun,
Into the free companionship of air;
Perhaps with sunsets when the day is done,
All’s one to me—I do not greatly care;
So long as there are brown hills—and a tree
Like a mad prophet in a land of dearth—
And I can lie and hear eternally
The vast monotonous breathing of the earth.
I have known hours, slow and golden-glowing,
Lovely with laughter and suffused with light,
O Lord, in such a time appoint my going,
When the hands clench, and the cold face grows white,
And the spark dies within the feeble brain,
Spilling its star-dust back to dust again.


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