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...COSMOPOLITE by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON EASTER by WILLIAM HENRY DAVIES VAIN TEARS, FR. THE QUEEN OF CORINTH by JOHN FLETCHER AGAINST THEM WHO LAY UNCHASTITY TO THE SEX OF WOMAN by WILLIAM HABINGTON HIS NAME WAS KEKO by THEODORE BRIDGMAN |