In the black hour the friendly cock did cry, And from the iron city where I lay, I heard his petty trumpet in the sky, His single word that darkness should be day. And I who would have stopped the tick of the clock, The sun as well, because of what I knew, Took courage from the courage of the cock, Who only did what he was used to do. And listening to his boast by sunlight taught, His loud promiscuous comfort I knew how To echo him—to draw from practiced thought A frozen sun to gild the frozen bough. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...CONTRA MORTEM: THE STONE by HAYDEN CARRUTH ATELIER CEZANNE by CLARENCE MAJOR AT THE MERMAID TAVERN (APRIL 10, 1613) by EDGAR LEE MASTERS COUNSEIL TO A BACHELER by MARIANNE MOORE |