NIGHT is the city's disease. The streets and the people one sees Glow with a light that is strangely inhuman; A fever that never grows cold. Heaven completes the disgrace; For now, with her star-pitted face, Night has the leer of a dissolute woman, Cynical, moon-scarred and old. And I think of the country roads; Of the quiet, sleeping abodes, Where every tree is a silent brother And the hearth is a thing to cling to. And I sicken and long for it now— To feel clean winds on my brow, Where Night bends low, like an all-wise mother Looking for children to sing to. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TUNK (A LECTURE ON MODERN EDUCATION) by JAMES WELDON JOHNSON SONG FOR THE FIRST OF THE MONTH by DOROTHY PARKER BEFORE THE FLOWERS OF FRIENDSHIP FADED FADED: 21 by GERTRUDE STEIN ONE AT PLAY IN THE FIELDS OF by KAREN SWENSON ST. FRANCIS EINSTEIN OF THE DAFFODILS (FIRST VERSION) by WILLIAM CARLOS WILLIAMS |