Poetry
Thomas Bailey Aldrich – Identity
SOMEWHERE–in desolate wind-swept space–
In Twilight-land–in No-man’s land–
Two hurrying Shapes met face to face,
And bade each other stand.
“And who are you?” cried one a-gape,
Shuddering in the gloaming light.
“I know not,” said the second Shape,
“I only died last night!”
