Alexander Smith

The pale child, Eve, leading her mother, Night.

The pale child, Eve, leading her mother, Night.

The sun was down,
And all the west was paved with sullen fire.
I cried, "Behold! the read more

The sun was down,
And all the west was paved with sullen fire.
I cried, "Behold! the barren beach of hell
At ebb of tide."

Every man's road in life is marked by the graves of his personal likings.

Every man's road in life is marked by the graves of his personal likings.

Sweet April's tears,
Dead on the hem of May.

Sweet April's tears,
Dead on the hem of May.

We twain have met like the ships upon the sea,
Who behold an hour's converse, so short, so sweet:
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We twain have met like the ships upon the sea,
Who behold an hour's converse, so short, so sweet:
One little hour! and then, away they speed
On lonely paths, through mist, and cloud, and foam,
To meet no more.