The Tired Worker

O whisper, O my soul! The afternoon
Is waning into evening, whisper soft!
Peace, O my rebel heart! for soon the moon
From out its misty veil will swing aloft!
Be patient, weary body, soon the night
Will wrap thee gently in her sable sheet,
And with a leaden sigh thou wilt invite
To rest thy tired hands and aching feet.
The wretched day was theirs, the night is mine;
Come tender sleep, and fold me to thy breast.
But what steals out the gray clouds like red wine?
O dawn! O dreaded dawn! O let me rest
Weary my veins, my brain, my life! Have pity!
No! Once again the harsh, the ugly city.

by Claude McKay

Comments (3)

The wretched day was their, the night is mine Come tender sleep, and fold me to thy breast. The psych and emotions of over worked and tired worker have been beautifully portrayed. Thanks for sharing.
Weary my veins, my brain, my life! Have pity! No! Once again the harsh, the ugly city.
Weary my veins, my brain, my life! Have pity! No! Once again the harsh, the ugly city. A poem of condolence and share of human sufferings. Very human and touching.