Henry Van Dyke (10 November 1852 – 10 April 1933 / Germantown, Pennsylvania)
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The Wind of Sorrow
The fire of love was burning, yet so low
That in the dark we scarce could see its rays,
And in the light of perfect-placid days
Nothing but smouldering embers dull and slow.
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Hits & posts of the poem: The Wind of Sorrow
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