I CHAFE at darkness in the night, But when 'tis light, Hope shuts her eyes; the clouds are pale; The fields stretch cold into a distance hard: I wish again to draw the veil Thousand-starred. Am I of them whose blooms are shed, Whose fruits are spent, Who from dead eyes see Life half dead; -- Because desire is feeble discontent? Ah, no! desire and hope should die, Thus were I. But in me something clipped of wing Within its ring Frets; for I have lost what made The dawn-breeze magic, and the twilight beam A hand with tidings o'er the glade Waving seem. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE TRASH MEN by CHARLES BUKOWSKI CONTRA MORTEM: THE SUN by HAYDEN CARRUTH APPELLATE JURISDICTION by MARIANNE MOORE THE PRETTY GIRL OF LOCH DAN by SAMUEL FERGUSON A FAREWELL TO TOWN by NICHOLAS BRETON THE WANDERER: 1. IN ITALY: THE MAGIC LAND by EDWARD ROBERT BULWER-LYTTON |