I died for beau…

I died for beauty, but was scarce
Adjusted in the tomb
When one who died for truth was lain
In an adjoining room.

He questioned softly why I failed?
“For beauty”‘, I replied
And I for truth – the two are one;
“We brethren are”, he said.

And so as kinsmen met a night,
We talked between the rooms,
until the moss had reached our lips,
and covered up our names.

By Emily Dickinson




by Walter de la Mare

Clouded with snow

The cold wind blows,

And shrill on leafless bough

The robin with its burning breast

Alone sings now.

The rayless sun,

Day’s journey done,

Sheds its last ebbing light

On fields in leagues of beauty spread

Unearthly White.

Thick draws the dark,

and spark by spark,

The frost fires kindle, and soon

Over that sea of frozen foam

Floats the White moon.

At the end of the day

There’s another day dawning

And the sun in the morning is waiting to rise

Like the waves crash on the sand

Like a storm that will break any second

There’s a hunger in the land

There’s a reckoning still to be reckoned and there’s gonna be – to pay

At the end of the day!