The great gold apples of light Hang from the street's long bough Dripping their light On the faces that drift below, On the faces that drift and blow Down the night-time, out of sight In the wind's sad sough. The ripeness of these apples of night Distilling over me Makes sickening the white Ghost-flux of faces that hie Them endlessly, endlessly by Without meaning or reason why They ever should be. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...FAITH by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON ABU SALAMMAMM - A SONG OF EMPIRE by EZRA POUND BUNKER HILL by GEORGE HENRY CALVERT THE EVE OF BUNKER HILL [JUNE 16, 1775] by CLINTON SCOLLARD SONNET: 9 by WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE THE SONG OF THE ILL-BELOVED; TO PAUL LEAUTARD by GUILLAUME APOLLINAIRE NETLEY ABBEY; A LEGEND OF HAMPSHIRE by RICHARD HARRIS BARHAM |