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Poem by Richard Henry Stoddard
THE wind in the leaves, The rain on the eaves, Or the low, continuous roar Of the rolling waves on the distant shore: Who shall declare What sounds they be? Whether lost in the air, Or found on the sea, And whether they laugh, or sigh? Not I. I only know That they come, and go, And people the hollow sky.
Richard Henry Stoddard
Richard Henry Stoddard's other poems:
English Poetry. E-mail firstname.lastname@example.org