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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=343784" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Last Quarter Of The Moon</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">How long shall I tarnish the mirror of life,<br>A spatter of rust on its polished steel!<br>The seasons reel<br>Like a goaded wheel.<br>Half-numb, half-maddened, my days are strife.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The night is sliding towards the dawn,<br>And upturned hills crouch at autumn's knees.<br>A torn moon flees<br>Through the hemlock trees,<br>The hours have gnawed it to feed their spawn.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Pursuing and jeering the misshapen thing<br>A rabble of clouds flares out of the east.<br>Like dogs unleashed<br>After a beast,<br>They stream on the sky, an outflung string.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">A desolate wind, through the unpeopled dark,<br>Shakes the bushes and whistles through empty nests,<br>And the fierce unrests<br>I keep as guests<br>Crowd my brain with corpses, pallid and stark.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Leave me in peace, O Spectres, who haunt<br>My labouring mind, I have fought and failed.<br>I have not quailed,<br>I was all unmailed<br>And naked I strove, 'tis my only vaunt.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The moon drops into the silver day<br>As waking out of her swoon she comes.<br>I hear the drums<br>Of millenniums<br>Beating the mornings I still must stay.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The years I must watch go in and out,<br>While I build with water, and dig in air,<br>And the trumpets blare<br>Hollow despair,<br>The shuddering trumpets of utter rout.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">An atom tossed in a chaos made<br>Of yeasting worlds, which bubble and foam.<br>Whence have I come?<br>What would be home?<br>I hear no answer. I am afraid!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I crave to be lost like a wind-blown flame.<br>Pushed into nothingness by a breath,<br>And quench in a wreath<br>Of engulfing death<br>This fight for a God, or this devil's game.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Amy+Lowell">Amy Lowell</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=343784" data-title="The Last Quarter Of The Moon de Amy Lowell" data-description="How long shall I tarnish the mirror of life,
A spatter of rust on its polished steel!
The seasons reel
Like a goaded wheel.
Half-numb, half-maddened, my days are strife.

The night is sliding towards the dawn,
And upturned hills crouch at autumn's..."></div>
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