What a sorrowful sunset we had tonight! In the trees a wind of despair wept, Blowing dead wood amid the withered leaves. Across the lace of barren branches Etched upon the cold and pale-blue sky, The sovereign of the heavens dropped stark and desolating. O Sun! In summertime, magnificent in your glory You set, radiant as a vast ciborium Inflaming the azure! Now we behold A sickly saffron disc, bereft of rays, Die on the vermilion-washed horizon Bleak in a sinister tubercular decor Feebly tingeing the rheumy clouds Dull livid white, splenetic green, Old gold, wan lilac, leaden gray, tarnished rose. O, it's finished, finished! The wind is long in its throes! The days are over with; all is gasping and sere; Earth's course is run, its loins are able no more. And its miserable children, thin, bald, and pallid With pondering the everlasting problems too much, Shaking and stooped in their burden of shawls, In the waning yellow gaslight of the misty boulevards Contemplate their absinthes with mute and empty eyes, Laughing in bitterness when pregnant women go by Parading their bellies and their breasts In the beastly pride of a god's slaves . . . Unknown tempests of the last debacles, Come! Unleash your whirlwind floods! Seize this sordid, gasping globe! Sweep Its weary heirs and cities' leprosy away! And fling the unspeakable havoc to the immensity of night! And in the great innocence of the eternal suns And the stars of love, may there be nothing known Of this rotten Brain which was the Earth, one day. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...O DREAMS, O DESTINATIONS by CECIL DAY LEWIS SPRING BLIZZARD by JAMES GALVIN PENT by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON IRELAND; WRITTEN FOR THE ART AUTOGRAPH DURING IRISH FAMINE by SIDNEY LANIER THE NEGRO DANCERS by CLAUDE MCKAY VIGNETTES OVERSEAS: 6. RUINS OF PAESTUM by SARA TEASDALE |