Oh, nights, carry us far, you purple ships With velvet wings for sails, Bear us across to the gentle gulf of joy. We believe Sinbad gladly, that friend and king of dreams, We would sob to his viols. Ah, there remains a coast where we may never land: Stony day and sun thick as mist. There longing hangs dead upon the cross of the houses— You nights, you curving sail-couches, Remain on the kind sea of sleep! The harbor lures, the morning-bell, A bitter salt burns on our lips: the day! Heavily we lift our weary lashes. @3Odol@1 beckons, blue on the dreary wash-stand. Slipper-symphonies. Café au lait. Oh, man! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: THE HILL by EDGAR LEE MASTERS THE SISTER'S TRAGEDY by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH UNCLE OUT O' DEBT AN' OUT O' DANGER by WILLIAM BARNES SPRING PLOWING by RUTH E. BILLEY MY BATH by JOHN STUART BLACKIE DEATH OF CHILDHOOD BELIEFS by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN THE STEALING OF THE MARE; AN ARABIC EPIC OF THE TENTH CENTURY by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT |