Did these night-hung houses, Of quiet, starlit stone, Breathe not a whisper -- 'Stay, Thou unhappy one; Whither so secret away?' Sighed not the unfriending wind, Chill with nocturnal dew, 'Pause, pause, in thy haste, O thou distraught! I too Tryst with the Atlantic waste.' Steep fell the drowsy street; In slumber the world was blind: Breathed not one midnight flower Peace in thy broken mind? -- 'Brief, yet sweet, is life's hour.' Syllabled thy last tide -- By as dark moon stirred, And doomed to forlorn unrest -- Not one compassionate word?. . . 'Cold is this breast.' | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...AN INTERVIEW WITH MILES STANDISH by JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: RUTHERFORD MCDOWELL by EDGAR LEE MASTERS IT IS FINISHED' by CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI SONNET: 1 by RICHARD BARNFIELD BROADCAST by KATHARINE LEE BATES THE GOLDEN ODES OF PRE-ISLAMIC ARABIA: ZOHEYR by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT |