Did these night-hung houses, Of quiet, starlit stone, Breathe not a whisper -- 'Stay, Thou unhappy one; Whither so secret away?' Sighed not the unfriending wind, Chill with nocturnal dew, 'Pause, pause, in thy haste, O thou distraught! I too Tryst with the Atlantic waste.' Steep fell the drowsy street; In slumber the world was blind: Breathed not one midnight flower Peace in thy broken mind? -- 'Brief, yet sweet, is life's hour.' Syllabled thy last tide -- By as dark moon stirred, And doomed to forlorn unrest -- Not one compassionate word?. . . 'Cold is this breast.' | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...HOMAGE TO SEXTUS PROPERTIUS: 9 by EZRA POUND AIRLY BEACON by CHARLES KINGSLEY CITY HOSPITAL by MARGARET BODEN THE SABBATH by EDWARD GEORGE EARLE LYTTON BULWER-LYTTON AN AMULET by RICHARD EUGENE BURTON |