I WHEN moiling seems at cease In the vague void of night-time, And heaven's wide roomage stormless Between the dusk and light-time, And fear at last is formless, We call the allurement Peace. II Peace, this hid riot, Change, This revel of quick-cued mumming, This never truly being, This evermore becoming, This spinner's wheel onfleeing Outside perception's range. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...FANCY, FR. THE MERCHANT OF VENICE by WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE FEATHERS ON THE GRASS by LAURA FRANCES ALEXANDER PRAYER IN THE TRENCHES by BRENT DOW ALLINSON YELLOW WARBLERS by KATHARINE LEE BATES PSALME 137 by OLD TESTAMENT BIBLE AMERICA A PROPHECY by WILLIAM BLAKE CEDES COEMPTIS SALTIBUS ... by JOHN BYROM |