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John Armistead Collier, dust, in English Clear filters

SadJohn Armistead Collier

Feathers and Dust

Ah God! is it gone Again— My rapture and Dream! Have I clutched Once more At the wing of an angel To find a bird That is seeking a nest? And my hands They are filled With feathers and dust And my eyes With dust and tears— And my heart Is sunk in the earth. How long
SadJohn Armistead Collier

A Note in Discord

I know not how it fares with thee, Good friend, but thus it is with me: I would that I might cease to be. A weakly wretch whose every breath Is mingled with a groan, a curse, A sigh for higher life—or Death: Borne on by some inherent trust, Accursed faith, or some vain hope— I live: and yet unfeeling dust I'd rather be, the senseless clod, Than be the thing I am, or seem— Whim of Nature, freak of God! And still I cling to this my crust Of life, and live—as if I must: The chains that bind me here will rust Before I break them. Like a slave

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