Under the clouded road's precipitate edge, What time we drive against the pale stars' rising, Sometimes a faint lamp glimmers on the ledge, Set in the thin dark lonely and surprising. Who in these frosty cabins takes account Of night, or notes how far the stars have swung? Who sees the morning constellations mount Save women long awake with ailing young? This is the hour the mother, heavy-eyed, Takes breath; the cough is done, the spasm past. She turns her sleeping child upon its side, Draws up the covers and lies down at last. Our brief light splits the shadows overhead; Sleep well, dream well, this little hour of rest. Blow out the lamp; turn in the chilly bed And take your quiet baby to your breast. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...BOOTH'S PHILIPPI by EDGAR LEE MASTERS BUNCHES OF GRAPES by WALTER JOHN DE LA MARE NATURE (2) by RALPH WALDO EMERSON THE OLD LOBSTERMAN by JOHN TOWNSEND TROWBRIDGE HELLENS RAPE; OR A LIGHT LANTHORNE FOR LIGHT LADIES by RICHARD BARNFIELD |