The houses of the city no longer hum and play: They lie like careless drowsy giants, dumb, estranged. One presses to his breast his toy, a lighted pane: One stirs uneasily: one is cold in death. And the late moon, fearfully peering over an immense shoulder, Sees, in the shadow below, the unpeopled hush of a street. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...I HAVE SEEN by JOHANNA AMBROSIUS A SONG OF PROGRESS by ALEXANDER ANDERSON NIGHT IN CAMP by HERBERT BASHFORD MAY CELEBRANTS by WILLIAM ROSE BENET PSALM 125 by OLD TESTAMENT BIBLE IN VINCULIS; SONNETS WRITTEN IN AN IRISH PRISON: FAREWELL DARK by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT |