Dear Dean, I'm in a sad condition, I cannot see to read or write; Pity the darkness of the Priscian, Whose days are all transformed to night. My head, though light's a dungeon grown, The windows of my skull are closed; Therefore to sleep I lay me down, My verse and I are both composed. Sleep, did I say? That cannot be, For who can sleep that wants his eyes? My bed is useless then to me, Therefore I lay me down to rise. Unnumbered thoughts pass to and fro Upon the surface of my brain; In various maze they come and go, And come and go again. So have you seen in sheet burnt black The fiery sparks at random run, Now here, now there, some turning back, Some ending where they just begun. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...CONTRA MORTEM: THE SUN by HAYDEN CARRUTH DRUMS AND BRASS by DONALD (GRADY) DAVIDSON CACHE LA POUDRE by JAMES GALVIN SELF-ANALYSIS by DAVID IGNATOW TO A FRIEND WRITING ON CABARET DANCERS by EZRA POUND THEME IN YELLOW by CARL SANDBURG ELEGY: THE LAMENT OF EDWARD BLASTOCK; FOR RICHARD ROWLEY by EDITH SITWELL ISADORA DUNCAN DANCING 'IPHIGENIA IN AULIS' by LOUIS UNTERMEYER |