Cloaked by the night the stealthy hours file by, Bearing their urns of silence; veiled and mute, They hear impassively each desperate cry, And tongueless irony is their salute. At dawn lift up your banners from the dust; Wear your best cloak against the iron chill; Chew if you can the doled and bitter crust -- But meet the night in secret, as you will. Whose eyes have wept for beacons in the black, Whose feet make bruised acknowledgment of stones, Bring to this assignation all your lack, Your broken songs, your plangent overtones. At wailing time, when the ignoble day Is done, and darkness comes to close you in, Record your plaint the immemorial way, In characters of challenge and chagrin. Though all your words be prodigally sown, Yet be amanuensis of your woes; Until firm hands shall carve your name on stone Where you lend beauty to the budding rose. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE JAIN BIRD HOSPITAL IN DELHI by WILLIAM MEREDITH CONTRA MORTEM: THE TREES by HAYDEN CARRUTH PARAGRAPHS: 9 by HAYDEN CARRUTH IT JUST SO HAPPENS by JAMES GALVIN SAPPHIC SUICIDE NOTE by JAMES GALVIN ALIENS (TO YOU - EVERYWHERE! DEDICATED) by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON THE MAN TO BE by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON |