“The Coming of Night” by Skipwith Cannell

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:

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