My heart cries like a beaten child, Ceaselessly, all night long; And I must take my own heart cries And thread them neatly into a song. My heart cries like a beaten child, And I must listen, stark and terse, Dry-eyed and critical, to see What I can turn into a verse. This was a sob at the hour of three, And this when the first cock crew -- I wove them into a dainty song, But no one thought it true! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...CAVE PAINTING by HAYDEN CARRUTH CONTRA MORTEM: THE MOON by HAYDEN CARRUTH A TIME TO DANCE by CECIL DAY LEWIS MATERNITY by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON LINCOLN TRIUMPHANT by EDWIN MARKHAM SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: RICHARD BONE by EDGAR LEE MASTERS |