Upon the riverside dale,
The moonlight, pale,
Blends with the infinite,
And a soft, majestic gale.
Poetry writ
In books of old
Soothe me
In the wintry cold.
The demands of winter’s sanctity
Knells from the bells of Notre Dame.
As I sit by the ancient bank
Of the cold and windy Seine.
Upon the riverside dale,
The moonlight, pale,
Blends with the infinite,
And a soft, majestic gale.
~ From A Lady Fair And Other Poems
By John Lars Zwerenz
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