The hour between night and day. The hour between toss and turn. The hour of thirty-year-olds. The hour swept clean for rooster's crowing. The hour when the earth takes back its warm embrace. The hour of cool drafts from extinguished stars. The hour of do-we-vanish-too-without-a-trace. Empty hour. Hollow. Vain. Rock bottom of all the other hours. No one feels fine at four a.m. If ants feel fine at four a.m., we're happy for the ants. And let five a.m. come if we've got to go on living. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...LINES INSCRIBED UPON A CUP FORMED FROM A SKULL by GEORGE GORDON BYRON WHEN I'M KILLED by ROBERT RANKE GRAVES LOCKSLEY HALL by ALFRED TENNYSON KNOW THYSELF by WILLIAM ARBUTHNOT THE TURN OF THE ROAD by JANE BARLOW THE REASON WHY by THOMAS LOVELL BEDDOES WHAT MATTERS IT? by GEORGE FREDERICK CAMERON LINES ON A PICTURE OF A GIRL IN THE ATTITUDE OF A PRAYER BY THE ARTIST GRUSE by THOMAS CAMPBELL THIRD BOOK OF AIRS: TO SIR THOMAS MOUNSON, KNIGHT AND BARONET by THOMAS CAMPION |