| Edwin Arlington Robinson (1869–1935). Collected Poems. 1921. |
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| II. The Children of the Night |
| 23. The Dead Village |
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| HERE there is death. But even here, they say, | |
| Here where the dull sun shines this afternoon | |
| As desolate as ever the dead moon | |
| Did glimmer on dead Sardis, men were gay; | |
| And there were little children here to play, | 5 |
| With small soft hands that once did keep in tune | |
| The strings that stretch from heaven, till too soon | |
| The change came, and the music passed away. | |
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| Now there is nothing but the ghosts of things,— | |
| No life, no love, no children, and no men; | 10 |
| And over the forgotten place there clings | |
| The strange and unrememberable light | |
| That is in dreams. The music failed, and then | |
| God frowned, and shut the village from His sight. | |
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