To my father (Whose feet tread the lost aeons)



Open the door, And listen! Only the wind’s muffled roar, And the glisten Of tears ’round the moon. And, in fancy, the tread Of vanishing shoon⁠— Out in the night with the Dead. “Hush! And hark To the sorrowful cry Of the wind in the dark. Hush and hark, without murmur or sigh, To shoon that tread the lost aeons: To the sound that bids you to die. Hush and hark! Hush and Hark!”

Shoon of the Dead