Afternoon in February
The day is ending,The night is descending;The marsh is frozen,The river dead.
Through clouds like ashesThe red sun flashesOn village windowsThat glimmer red.
The snow recommences;The buried fencesMark no longerThe road o'er the plain;
While through the meadows,Like fearful shadows,Slowly passesA funeral train.
The bell is pealing,And every feelingWithin me respondsTo the dismal knell;
Shadows are trailing,My heart is bewailingAnd tolling withinLike a funeral bell.
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