Morning is a dingy room, cluttered with empty bottles and sticky gin-scented glasses. . . A sickly sun slinks in, revealing the soiled linens and disorder there. . . If this is morning, Must morning be? Oh, Christ for the plains and the lost, lost sea! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ONE AT PLAY IN THE FIELDS OF by KAREN SWENSON A VOYAGE TO CYTHERA by CHARLES BAUDELAIRE THIRD BOOK OF AIRS: SONG 17. A LOVER'S PLEA by THOMAS CAMPION THE BOOK [OF THE WORLD] by WILLIAM DRUMMOND OF HAWTHORNDEN W'EN I GITS HOME by PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR THE HARLEM DANCER by CLAUDE MCKAY |