Through these pale cold days <br />What dark faces burn <br />Out of three thousand years, <br />And their wild eyes yearn, <br /> <br />While underneath their brows <br />Like waifs their spirits grope <br />For the pools of Hebron again-- <br />For Lebanon's summer slope. <br /> <br />They leave these blond still days <br />In dust behind their tread <br />They see with living eyes <br />How long they have been dead.<br /><br />Isaac Rosenberg<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/through-these-pale-cold-days/
