Poems by William Vaughn Moody

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Poi disse un altro.... "Io son Buonconte:
Grey drizzling mists the moorlands drape,
(After seeing at Boston the statue of Robert Gould Shaw, killed while storming Fort Wagner, July 18, 1863, at the head of the first enlisted negro regiment, the 54th Massachusetts.)
Only two patient eyes to stare
A mile behind is Gloucester town
At last the bird that sang so long
This string upon my harp was best beloved:
To-night her lids shall lift again, slow, soft, with vague desire,
Nay, move not! Sit just as you are,
I wonder can this be the world it was
Streets of the roaring town,
The faint stars wake and wonder,
Leave the early bells at chime,
The opal heart of afternoon
Through his might men work their wills.
This, then, is she,
All day he drowses by the sail
Thank God my brain is not inclined to cut
Between the rice swamps and the fields of tea
Before the coming of the dark, he dreamed
Two hours, two hours: God give me strength for it!