And until when will the grey sceptres loom!
like the sullen shades of a vanquished Sun
gloats upon a sigh that's sulking
into some barren noon!
And until when will the grey sceptres loom!
like the breeze bears the yoke of some morose gloom,
and quietly lays on eyelids
their listless swoon.
Pleading,
Oh pleading onto heaven!
Until when will these grey sceptres loom!
There!
perhaps I saw a fern,
soon I do hope,
Oh I do hope they flutter gayly over the horizon,
Like the ferns that flutter in fringes of a revenant Sun!
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