At the barren heart of midnight, When the shadow shuts and opens As the loud flames pulse and flutter, I can hear a cistern leaking. Dripping, dropping, in a rhythm, Rough, unequal, half-melodious, Like the measures aped from nature In the infancy of music; Like the buzzing of an insect, Still, irrational, persistent . . . I must listen, listen, listen In a passion of attention; Till it taps upon my heartstrings, And my very life goes adripping, Dropping, dripping, drip-drip-dropping, In the drip-drop of the cistern. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...PRELUDE TO A FAIRY TALE by EDITH SITWELL DEAR ELIZABETH: (FOR ELIZABETH DIFIORE) by KAREN SWENSON PISCATAQUA RIVER by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH HOLY THURSDAY, FR. SONGS OF EXPERIENCE by WILLIAM BLAKE SONNETS FROM THE PORTUGUESE: 6 by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING MY AIN COUNTREE by ALLAN CUNNINGHAM |