The dull day darkens to its close. The sheen Of a myriad gas-jets lights the squalid night. There is no joy, it seems, but what hath been: There is nought left but semblance of delight. Nay, is it so? Down this long darkling way What surety is there for the hungry heart, What vistas of white peace, rapt holiday Of the tired soul forlorn, thus kept apart? Oh, hearken, hearken, love! I cannot wait: Drear is the night without, the night within: I am so tired, so tired, so baffled of our fate, The very sport it seems of our sweet sin: Oh, open, open now, and bid me stay, Who almost am too tired; too weak, to pray. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...MOUNTAIN WATER by SARA TEASDALE HEALALL by WILLIAM CARLOS WILLIAMS THE VOICE by WILFRID WILSON GIBSON CLIO, NINE ECLOGUES IN HONOUR OF NINE VIRTUES: 8. OF CONSTANCY by WILLIAM BASSE THE GARDEN-CHAIR; TWO PORTRAITS by DINAH MARIA MULOCK CRAIK UNDER WHICH KING (VERSES READ AT OMAR KHAYYAM CLUB, 1903) by HENRY AUSTIN DOBSON |