Malade - Sách nói Miễn phí

FIRELIGHT AND NIGHTFALL

THE darkness steals the forms of all the queens,
     But oh, the palms of his two black hands are red,
     Inflamed with binding up the sheaves of dead
     Hours that were once all glory and all queens.

     And I remember all the sunny hours
     Of queens in hyacinth and skies of gold,
     And morning singing where the woods are scrolled
     And diapered above the chaunting flowers.

     Here lamps are white like snowdrops in the grass;
     The town is like a churchyard, all so still
     And grey now night is here; nor will
     Another torn red sunset come to pass.