Mary Elizabeth Coleridge

(23 September 1861 – 25 August 1907)

A Moment


The clouds had made a crimson crown
Above the mountains high.
The stormy sun was going down
In a stormy sky.

Why did you let your eyes so rest on me,
And hold your breath between?
In all the ages this can never be
As if it had not been.

Submitted: Thursday, April 01, 2010

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