Be still, my heart, there is no time for mourning,
Stay well apart, in despair we find a warning,
There is yet hope, and with it love,
The embers smoke, and with them lust.
Too few are the stars, too short the night,
So the wound smarts and saps our might,
With dagger sharp and eyes bright the demon cuts.
Take leave, my hate, there is no place for you.
Stay true, my fate, where the love may yet bloom.
With silent step and quiet gaze,
Mind the ledge and the fire's haze,
The path is straight and easy to follow,
Do not deviate, bereave us my sorrow,
Do not wait and leave me to borrow on faith.
Upon my chest, place your head,
Upon my strength, take your rest.
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Comments about this poem (Be Still by Dillon McKenna )
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
(22 March 1941 -)
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