Black on the depths of blackest skies
whence even the levin seems withdrawn,
the cities threaten: burning eyes
ask what dread hand hath slain the dawn.
More verses by Christopher John Brennan
- An Hour's Respite
- Interlude: The Hearth And The Window
- 1897
- Interlude: The Casement
- Dawns Of The World, How I Have Known You All...