Francis Saltus Saltus
📔 Honey and Gall
1873
I sing of strange songs and the wringing /
Of hands in fatidical zeal, /
Of great gloom-throated bells, ever ringing /
With wild poems of bronze till they reel. /
I sing of all terrors hell-springing, /
And I sing of our woe and our weal.
An ebon night had masked the sky, /
Great hueless clouds soared grimly by, /
They seemed to moan, they seemed to sigh /
With sullen ire.
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