“O acerba mors–“
oh bitter death.
Oh lackluster truth,
of dying breath.
Of meagre thought,
of eager dread.
As plaintive tears
plead torn regret.
This placid night
has strewn astray.
All starry light,
to unseen day–.
“O acerba mors–“
oh bitter death.
Oh lackluster truth,
of dying breath.
Of meagre thought,
of eager dread.
As plaintive tears
plead torn regret.
This placid night
has strewn astray.
All starry light,
to unseen day–.