- by Arthur Bayldon 14The patient stars are shining large and clear;
The crescent moon hangs like a tilted bowl;
So calm, so still, that I can almost hear
Thoughts stirring in the chambers of my soul.
- by Arthur Bayldon 14The weary wind is slumbering on the wing:
Leaping from out meek twilight's purpling blue
Burns the proud star of eve as though it knew
It was the big king jewel quivering
On the black turban of advancing night.
In the dim west the soldiers of the sun
Strike all their royal colours one by one,
Reluctantly surrender every height.
Poems by Arthur Bayldon, Arthur Bayldon's poems collection. Arthur Bayldon is a classical and famous poet (20 March 1865 - 26 September 1958 / Leeds, England). Share all poems of Arthur Bayldon.
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