At the barren heart of midnight, When the shadow shuts and opens As the loud flames pulse and flutter, I can hear a cistern leaking. Dripping, dropping, in a rhythm, Rough, unequal, half-melodious, Like the measures aped from nature In the infancy of music; Like the buzzing of an insect, Still, irrational, persistent . . . I must listen, listen, listen In a passion of attention; Till it taps upon my heartstrings, And my very life goes adripping, Dropping, dripping, drip-drip-dropping, In the drip-drop of the cistern. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...CHAMBER MUSIC: 14 by JAMES JOYCE GOING FOR WATER by ROBERT FROST MNEMOSYNE by TRUMBULL STICKNEY THE EUMENIDES: THE FURIES' PRAYER by AESCHYLUS NEXT DAY; IN THE TRAIN by LAWRENCE ALMA-TADEMA THE LEAF by ANTOINE VINCENT ARNAULT |