The day is ending,
The night is descending;
The marsh is frozen,
The river dead.

Through clouds like ashes
The red sun flashes
On village windows
That glimmer red.

The snow recommences;
The buried fences
Mark no longer
The road o'er the plain;

While through the meadows,
Like fearful shadows,
Slowly passes
A funeral train.

The bell is pealing,
And every feeling
Within me responds
To the dismal knell;

Shadows are trailing,
My heart is bewailing
And tolling within
Like a funeral bell.

Added: on November 11th, 2004 at 3:07 PM | Viewed: 5667 times | Comments (1)

Poet: Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Poem: 13. AFTERNOON IN FEBRUARY
Volume: The Belfry of Bruges and Other Poems

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