When the words rustle no more, And the last work's done, When the bolt lies deep in the door, And Fire, our Sun, Falls on the dark-laned meadows of the floor; When from the clock's last chime to the next chime Silence beats his drum, And Space with gaunt grey eyes and her brother Time Wheeling and whispering come, She with the mould of form and he with the loom of rhyme: Then twittering out in the night my thought-birds flee, I am emptied of all my dreams: I only hear Earth turning, only see Ether's long bankless streams, And only know I should drown if you laid not your hand on me. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...GRANDMITHER, THINK NOT I FORGET by WILLA SIBERT CATHER A SECOND REVIEW OF THE GRAND ARMY [MAY 24, 1865] by FRANCIS BRET HARTE UNDER HOUSE ARREST IN WINDSOR by HENRY HOWARD THE OLD FAMILIAR FACES by CHARLES LAMB AUTUMN SONG by DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI SATIRE: 1. TO JOHN POYNZ (POINS) by THOMAS WYATT |