Here is the long-bided hour: the labor of years is accomplished. Why should this sadness unplumbed secretly weigh on my heart? Is it, my work being done, I stand like a laborer, useless, One who has taken his pay, alien to unwonted tasks? Is it the work I regret, the silent companion of midnight, Friend of the golden-haired Dawn, friend of the gods of the hearth? | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: ALEXANDER THROCKMORTON by EDGAR LEE MASTERS SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: GEORGE GRAY by EDGAR LEE MASTERS WISDOM COMETH WITH THE YEARS by COUNTEE CULLEN WHEN THE SPEED COMES by ROBERT FROST TRANSPOSITIONS by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON |