The Twenty-Fourth Hour

At the twenty-fourth hour,
When nightly chants are scarcely sung
By the happy nightingale’s tongue
With a cunning power.

When the dark veils the globe,
And the moon casts its silver beams
Among filmy clouds where each seems
Like a descending rope.

When the wave comes and goes
Along pebbled shores to call me,
And the gentle breeze of the sea
Through windows softly blows.

And the drops of the dew
Form on the tender leaves of trees
As glassy beads that dwell at ease
In the bed of the blue.

My candle starts to wink,
And above my still desk I keep
Paper sheets lying in a heap,
And thirsty for some ink.

by Ali AlMajnooni

Other poems of ALMAJNOONI (5)

Comments (6)

Awesome flight of imagery that has portrayed wonderfully the feelings of joy as also panic created by the actions of a small baby in young mother.
I only can say: Wonderful words. Tilly Boesche-Zacharow
With the muse of the young father around her. Nice work.
It shows the care and fear of a young mother who is not yet familiar with the tricks of the motherhood. Lovely poem. Thanks, Robert.
So realistically and powerfully told! I love Robert Service's works. I have read so many of them, but this one I seem to have missed.
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