With Day and Day

With day and day in the surrounded dark,
On the breasts of night's deep and softly breath;
Clouded mornings coming - icy in spark,
With gangrenous precipices hands of death.
All is too soft and dripping slowly down,
From the clouds in the loneness of the high;
To the earth of the shadow oily brown,
Tears are falling from their lorn briny cry.
The plants are nursed in the broken pieces,
With the goodness of cold dripping water;
Love comes to the offsprings for it freezes,
Muttering tones hollow to a mater.
To life and death - are some of the much same,
And both to the issues share their right claim.