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1884–1933

Gray Fog

Sara Teasdale

A fog drifts in, the heavy laden Cold white ghost of the sea — One by one the hills go out, The road and the pepper-tree.

I watch the fog float in at the window With the whole world gone blind, Everything, even my longing, drowses, Even the thoughts in my mind.

I put my head on my hands before me, There is nothing left to be done or said, There is nothing to hope for, I am tired, And heavy as the dead.

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Gray Fog · Sara Teasdale · Poetry Cove