Page 49 - Jack Foley | The true litterateur
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                     IN 1955 IMMEDIATELY AFTER READING
                    THOMAS GRAY’S “ELEGY WRITTEN IN A

                              COUNTRY CHURCHYARD”:

                                          Jack Foley

                  I see the night—the restless, eager night
                  That spreads its shadow softly on the day,
                  And whispers to the sun’s red, burning light
                  To vanish like a dream and pass away.

                  I see the night—the darkened mist of night—

                  And feel the velvet sorrows mem’ries bring;
                  September’s leaves have fallen, old and bright,
                  And autumn’s winds have blown the dust of

                  I think of days long past, and gone, and dead,
                  Of all the ancient, withered hopes I’ve had,
                  And wonder where the passing hours have fled—
                  The ghosts of yesterday—forever sad.

                  O ghosts, my dreams, once breathing, once alive,
                  Like flower petals in a hurricane,
                  Were sundered from their stems, no more to

                  No more to feel the gentle touch of rain,

                  No more to hear my reckless, youthful calls,
                  But banished into bleak eternity,
                  To come again to me when darkness falls,
                  As waves upon the seas of memory.

                  And now the night, with stars and shining lights
                  All winking, sprightly, like the woodland fawns,
                  Is fading fast, for with a thousand nights,
                  There comes the brilliance of a thousand dawns.

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