In the black hour the friendly cock did cry, And from the iron city where I lay, I heard his petty trumpet in the sky, His single word that darkness should be day. And I who would have stopped the tick of the clock, The sun as well, because of what I knew, Took courage from the courage of the cock, Who only did what he was used to do. And listening to his boast by sunlight taught, His loud promiscuous comfort I knew how To echo him—to draw from practiced thought A frozen sun to gild the frozen bough. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE ROSE-BUD; TO A YOUNG LADY by WILLIAM BROOME THIRD BOOK OF AIRS: SONG 23 by THOMAS CAMPION THE BLACK RIDERS: 9 by STEPHEN CRANE MOZART'S REQUIEM by FELICIA DOROTHEA HEMANS ON A BOY'S FIRST READING OF THE PLAY OF 'KING HENRY THE FIFTH' by SILAS WEIR MITCHELL AN ECHO FROM WILLOW-WOOD by CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI |