Low in the West the pitiless sun dies; The hills withdraw into the mist, to sleep, And stars unnumbered swarm across the skies Above the fugitive brown bats that cheep Weakly on aimless wings. The Night descends And draws a pendulous sable sleeve across Earth's wrinkled face. The deepening darkness lends Texture to compensate for color's loss. No breeze, no sound -- 'til suddenly the hush Is broken by the shrill call of a bird Dreaming of Dawn, who wakes his fellow-thrush, Then folds the wings some ghost of Morning stirred. Strange that so small a sound could so refute The long hours when the Night and I were mute! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...IDYLL 1. LAMENT FOR ADONIS by BION PRECIOUS WORDS by EMILY DICKINSON THE OLD SWIMMIN'-HOLE by JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY THE HOUSE OF LIFE: 47. BROKEN MUSIC by DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI THE BOOK OF THE LETTER, SELECTION by ABRAHAM ABULAFIA |