THE night was loud with tumult; trees were torn
Sheer from their roots by the delirious wind;
In some waste dreamland wandered all forlorn
A smitten soul, bewildered, broken, blind.
The mists had lifted; evanescent gleams
Of tender emerald lighted every leaf,
While from a casement smiled, escaped from dreams,
A quiet face made exquisite by grief.
Night And Morning
Katharine Lee Bates
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Poem topics: grief, night, wind, soul, tender, face, broken, blind, waste, quiet, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
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