The dull day darkens to its close. The sheen Of a myriad gas-jets lights the squalid night. There is no joy, it seems, but what hath been: There is nought left but semblance of delight. Nay, is it so? Down this long darkling way What surety is there for the hungry heart, What vistas of white peace, rapt holiday Of the tired soul forlorn, thus kept apart? Oh, hearken, hearken, love! I cannot wait: Drear is the night without, the night within: I am so tired, so tired, so baffled of our fate, The very sport it seems of our sweet sin: Oh, open, open now, and bid me stay, Who almost am too tired; too weak, to pray. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...PRAISE FOR AN URN; IN MEMORIAM: ERNEST NELSON by HAROLD HART CRANE ELEGY BEFORE DEATH by EDNA ST. VINCENT MILLAY SIT DOWN SAD SOUL by BRYAN WALLER PROCTER LET US HAVE PEACE by NANCY BYRD TURNER COMPOSED BY THE SIDE OF GRASMERE by WILLIAM WORDSWORTH TO A HIGHLAND GIRL; AT INVERSNAID, UPON LOCH LOMOND by WILLIAM WORDSWORTH CHARACTERS: SARAH TAYLOR RIGBY by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD |