It is midnight, I am alone, And drenched with rain, Away from any habitation save Thine own. Only sharp pain Beats out against the storm from broken strings; Yet, even now, a little song upsprings Even at midnight I must speak of dawn; For Thou, unseen but felt, hast gently drawn A cloak about me. For this sacred grace, I thank Thee! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...IMAGINARY ANCESTORS: THE GIRAFFE WOMAN OF BURMA by MADELINE DEFREES SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: EPILOGUE by EDGAR LEE MASTERS THE SPARROW HARK IN THE RAIN (ALEXANDER STEPHENS HEARS NEWS) by EDGAR LEE MASTERS JOHN ERICSSON DAY MEMORIAL, 1918 by CARL SANDBURG SIXTEEN MONTHS by CARL SANDBURG OWEN SEAMAN; ESTABLISHES ENTENE CORDIALE IN MANNER GUY WETMORE CARRYL by LOUIS UNTERMEYER |