Poems (Mary Coleridge)/Poem 57

​

LVII AWAKE
The wailing wind doth not enough despair;
 The Sea, for all her sobbing, hath the Moon,
I cannot find my heart's cry anywhere,
   Fain to complain alone.

The whistle of the train that, like a dart,
 Pierces the darkness as it hurries by,
Hath not enough of sadness, and my heart
   Is stifled for a cry.

This article is issued from Wikisource. The text is available under Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 4.0 unless otherwise noted. Additional terms may apply for the media files.