The Coming of Night
(In the city)
The sun is near set
And the tall buildings
Become teeth
Tearing bloodily at the sky's throat;
The blank wall by my window
Becomes night sky over the marshes
When there is no moon, and no wind,
And little fishes splash in the pools.
I had lit my candle to make a song for you,
But I have forgotten it for I am very tired;
And the candle . . . a yellow moth . . .
Flutters, flutters,
Deep in my brain.
I had lit my candle to make a song for you,
But I have forgotten it for I am very tired;
And the candle . . . a yellow moth . . .
Flutters, flutters,
Deep in my brain.
My song was about, 'a foreign lady
Who was beautiful and sad,
Who was forsaken, and who died
A thousand years ago.'
But the cracked cup at my elbow,
With dregs of tea in it,
Fixes my tired thought more surely
Than the song I made for you and forgot . . .
That I might give you this.
I am tired.
I am so tired
That my soul is a great plain
Made desolate,
[ . . . ]
Skipwith Cannell's poem "The Coming of Night" was published in the 1917 Others anthology. To read this poem in full in a digitized version of this publication, follow the link(s) below: