John Bannister Tabb

1845-1909 / the United States

Spectators

Around us, wheresoe'er we tread,
The while our shadows pass them by,
As in Bethsaida's porch the dead
With upturned faces lie,
Dreading, perchance, the vanished light,
And Life's subsided fever-breath,
As we the charnel-house of Night
Beyond the Vale of Death.
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