Aleksandr Aleksandrovich Blok (28 November 1880 – 7 August 1921 / Saint Petersburg)
Halls grew darker
Halls grew darker and somehow faded.
Grates of windows drowned in black.
Every knight, every beautiful lady
Knew the tiding: "The Queen's deadly sick."
And the king, very silent and frowned,
Passed the doors, lost of pages and slaves ...
Every word, that by chance cast around,
Proved the truth of the closing grave.
By the doors of the silent abode
I was crying, while pressing the brace ...
At the end of the passage remote
Someone echoed me, hiding his face.
By the doors of the Beautiful Lady
I was sobbing, attired in blue ...
And the stranger of ashen face sadly
Echoed me all my sufferings through.
Comments about this poem (Halls grew darker by Aleksandr Aleksandrovich Blok )
Top 500 Poems
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Still I Rise
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
William Ernest Henley
I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings