The End Of The Day

The night darkens fast & the shadows darken,
Clouds & the rain gather about mine house,
Only the wood-dove moans, hearken, O hearken!
The moan of the wood-dove in the rain-wet boughs.

Loneliness & the night! The night is lonely
Star-covered the night takes to a tender breast
Wrapping them in her veil these dark hours only
The weary, the bereaved, the dispossessed.

When will it lighten? Once the night was kindly
Nor all her hours went by leaden & long.
Now in mine house the hours go groping blindly.
After the shiver of dawn, the first bird's song.

Sleep now! The night with wings of splendour swept
Hides heavy eyes from light that they may sleep
Soft & secure, under her gaze so tender
Lest they should wake to weep, should wake to weep.

by Katharine Tynan

Comments (6)

The mortal body is sure to wither away.At one point it will mix in the earth.Those who are attracted to external beauty will discard the flower when it wilts.Have you not seen some people keeping dried rose secretly inside the pages of books because it had been gifted by a lover? Only love can see beauty beyond the skin. Thanks for this lovely poem.
Amazing photo - the salvation and apotheosis of the flower // People dazzled by the flower's showy exterior had no sense of what it truly is - an organic, growing thing which belongs in the ground, in the dirt, its natural home. It's not meant to be severed, live a few more days as a bouquet and then be discarded as trash. These people do not see the whole plant, or the whole person, or the whole issue; they divide things, people and issues into non-vital fragments. They must learn to see the big picture, the dirt, the seed, the stem, the flowers, the living whole. It's not meant to be on display as a bouquet, and then withered and colorless thrown away as trash.
Kal paoN ek kasae sar per jo aa geya, eksar wuh istakhawn shikasta se choor tha Kahne laga keh dekh ke chal rah bekhabar maiN bhi kabhoo kasoo ka sare purghuroor tha. (Mir Taqi Mir)
some sang of your velvet touch but today as you lie broken and unwanted many unmindful feet tread over you and not one hand there is to pick you up... true dictum. Touching write. I appreciate this poem. Thanks for sharing.
So true of man's life too....! There may be thousands to surround one in times of glory, but once fallen, a thousand feet might trample over and not a single hand would be stretched to lift him up! Fair weather friends.....! Reading this, I am reminded of Robert Browning's famous poem The Patriot! Beautiful write, Nosheen!
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