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Sappho, v. 1, issue 4, March 1944
Page 9
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SAPPHO - the magazine of verse GRAY DAY (dirge) Gray Day! All the color of the earth has gone away. Even the sky has naught to say When it turns to granite gray. Gray Day! I seem to feel a dirge-like melody Pouring out its mournful play Like the forlorn washing, pounding, raging Of the barren winter spray. Gray Day! When the misty coldness has its say And stifles the laughing and the gay; I fear I have a desperate morbid love for your chalkish pallid sway. Gray Day! When the warmer colors turn to white And the somber ones shade into night And the horizon holds no warming light... I feel a rising exultant force; I find I want my losely course; I find I feel no sad remorse; That I prefer the silent wafting mists, Or the lands of quiet Grangantuity Of immutable rock and mountain peak Gray Day! You are my lonesome soul's best! Fywert Kinge 9
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SAPPHO - the magazine of verse GRAY DAY (dirge) Gray Day! All the color of the earth has gone away. Even the sky has naught to say When it turns to granite gray. Gray Day! I seem to feel a dirge-like melody Pouring out its mournful play Like the forlorn washing, pounding, raging Of the barren winter spray. Gray Day! When the misty coldness has its say And stifles the laughing and the gay; I fear I have a desperate morbid love for your chalkish pallid sway. Gray Day! When the warmer colors turn to white And the somber ones shade into night And the horizon holds no warming light... I feel a rising exultant force; I find I want my losely course; I find I feel no sad remorse; That I prefer the silent wafting mists, Or the lands of quiet Grangantuity Of immutable rock and mountain peak Gray Day! You are my lonesome soul's best! Fywert Kinge 9
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