THIS is the quiet hour; the theaters Have gathered in their crowds, and steadily The million lights blaze on for few to see, Robbing the sky of stars that should be hers. A woman waits with bag and shabby furs, A somber man drifts by, and only we Pass up the street unwearied, warm and free, For over us the olden magic stirs. Beneath the liquid splendor of the lights We live a little ere the charm is spent; This night is ours, of all the golden nights, The pavement an enchanted palace floor, And Youth the player on the viol, who sent A strain of music thru an open door. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...STAR-TALK by ROBERT RANKE GRAVES A PRAYER, LIVING AND DYING by AUGUSTUS MONTAGUE TOPLADY A NEW BIRTH by EDMUND JOHN ARMSTRONG PEARLS OF THE FAITH: 95, 96. AL-AZALI, AL-BAKI by EDWIN ARNOLD EPIGRAM ON A ROPE-MAKER HANGED by WILLIAM BROWNE (1591-1643) MATTERHORN QUESTS by RICHARD EUGENE BURTON |