Words for the Chisel (collection)/Final
Final
A far barbaric sadness haunts these hills
In mist of autumn and magnificence
Of clear unearthly color—
I have crossed the wall
Past mortal sorrow and its single sense;
I am a human dying of my ills
Who comes upon a cosmic funeral
And the still splendor of indifference.
In mist of autumn and magnificence
Of clear unearthly color—
I have crossed the wall
Past mortal sorrow and its single sense;
I am a human dying of my ills
Who comes upon a cosmic funeral
And the still splendor of indifference.