Sunday, September 7, 2014
Sunday Poetry - Afanasy Afanasievich Fet
The stars glowed red in leaf-still weather
And it was thus
We two gazed at the stars together
And they at us.
When all the host of heaven come stealing
Into the breast,
Cannot the breast withhold, concealing
Something at least?
All that preserves or prompts life's ferment
All that is borne off to interment
Then stars more pure, than dark more tender,
Black night more dread,
All this, in eye-to-eye surrender
Was what we said.