The moonlight breaks upon the city's domes, And falls along cemented steel and stone, Upon the grayness of a million homes, Lugubrious in unchanging monotone. Upon the clothes behind the tenement, That hang like ghosts suspended from the lines, Linking each flat to each indifferent, Incongruous and strange the moonlight shines. There is no magic from your presence here, Ho, moon, sad moon, tuck up your trailing robe, Whose silver seems antique and so severe Against the glow of one electric globe. Go spill your beauty on the laughing faces Of happy flowers that bloom a thousand hues, Waiting on tiptoe in the wilding spaces, To drink your wine mixed with sweet drafts of dews. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ROBERT E. LEE by JULIA WARD HOWE THE PICTURE OF LITTLE T.C. IN A PROSPECT OF FLOWERS by ANDREW MARVELL ZOLA by EDWIN ARLINGTON ROBINSON TO THE MEMORY OF THOMAS HOOD by BARTHOLOMEW SIMMONS EIGHTEEN SIXTY-ONE by WALT WHITMAN SONNETS FROM THE PORTUGUESE: 9 by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING THE SKIES by WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT TOWARDS DEMOCRACY: PART 3. ELDER SOLDIER IN BROTHERHOOD TO THE YOUNGER by EDWARD CARPENTER |