Spectators Poem by John Bannister Tabb
Spectators
Around us, wheresoe'er we tread,
The while our shadows pass them by,
As in Bethsaida's porch the dead
With upturned faces lie,
Dreading, perchance, the vanished light,
And Life's subsided fever-breath,
As we the charnel-house of Night
Beyond the Vale of Death.
Thursday, September 2, 2010
Topic(s) of this poem: house
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8/15/2026 12:10:02 AM # rel_20260813T193622Z_3aad590
