Joseph Seamon Cotter (1861 - 1919)
There is naught in the pathless reach
Of the pale, blue sky above,
There is naught that the stars tell, each to each,
As over the heavens they rove;
That I have not felt, or have not seen
Clad in dull earth or fancy's sheen.
There is naught, in the still, mauve twilight
When the dreams come flitting by,
From lands afar of eternal night,
Or lands of the sunswept sky,
For countless spirits within me dwell
With heaven's efflugence or dark hell.
Poet Other Poems
- A Prayer
- A Woman at Her Husband's Grave
- An April Day
- And Thou Art One
- And What Shall You Say?
- I Shall Not Die
- I Sometimes Wonder If the Mighty God
- I would not tarry if I could be gone
- I'm A-waiting and A-watching
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.