AT four this day of June I rise: The dawn-light strengthens steadily; Earth is a cerule mystery, As if not far from Paradise At four o'clock, Or else in the Great Nebula, Or where the Pleiads blink and smile: (For though we see with eyes of guile The grisly grin of things by day, At four o'clock They show their best.). . . In this vale's space I am up the first, I think. Yet, no, A whistling? and the to-and-fro Wheezed whettings of a scythe apace At four o'clock?. . . -- Though pleasure spurred, I rose with irk: Here is one at compulsion's whip Taking his life's stern stewardship With blithe uncare, and hard at work At four o'clock! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...QUI S'EXCUSE S'ACCUSE by MARIANNE MOORE REJECTED ADDRESSES: THE BABY'S DEBUT, BY W. W. by JAMES SMITH (1775-1839) WRITTEN ON THE DEATH OF OUR BELOVED GENERAL STONEWALL JACKSON by CAROLINE AUGUSTA BALL THERE WAS A GARDEN by MARIE BARTON |