A Cry in the Night
Reading edition
Wail, wail, wail, For the fleering world goes down: Into the song of the poet pale Mixes the laugh of the clown. Grim, grim, grim, Is the road we go to the dead; Yet we must on, for a Something dim Pushes the soul ahead. Where, where, where, Through the dust and shadow of things Will the fleeing Fates with their wild manes bear These tribes of slaves and kings?