All those treasures that lie in the little bolted box whose tiny space is Mightier than the room of the stars, being secret and filled with dreams: All those treasures -- I hold them in my hand -- are straining continually Against the sides and the lid and the two ends of the little box in which I guard them; Crying that there is no sun come among them this great while and that they weary of shining; Calling me to fold back the lid of the little box and to give them sleep finally. But the night I am hiding from them, dear friend, is far more desperate than their night! And so I take pity on them and pretend to have lost the key to the little house of my treasures, For they would die of weariness were I to open it, and not be merely faint and sleepy As they are now. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: YEE BOW by EDGAR LEE MASTERS SONNET by EDWIN ARLINGTON ROBINSON HOW TO GET ON IN SOCIETY by JOHN BETJEMAN THE LONG WHITE SEAM by JEAN INGELOW FUZZY-WUZZY' (SOUDAN EXPEDITIONARY FORCE) by RUDYARD KIPLING THE FIRST PROCLAMATION OF MILES STANDISH [NOVEMBER 23, 1620] by MARGARET JUNKIN PRESTON |