 | [Poems by Whittier in] A Study of Whittier's Apprenticeship as a Poet |  |
188
MIDNIGHT THOUGHTS
It is the noon of night—the far off stars,Clear and undimmed, as when at first they gemmed
The blue expanse of heaven, are looking down
Serenely beautiful!—The half-faced moon
Hath poured her delicate light upon the tops
Of the tall trees; and the hills' summits wear
The mantle of her beauty.—Pshaw! I'll see!—
'Tis not exactly so—There is no moon
And if there was, I should not see it shine
On lofty trees, or sky-approaching hills,
But rather on the old distillery,
Blackened with smoke,—or directly in the distance,
The roofs of Frinksborough might reflect its gleam,—
I told somewhat of stars—but really now,
I see but six or eight, and even these
Are winking drowsily, as if they needed
Their sleep as well as I,—I half suspect
I have been dreaming now—but never mind!
We poets are strange animals, and have
Undoubted right to deviate a little
From the plain path that sober prose points out.
Haverhill Gazette, August 9, 1828
| [Poems by Whittier in] A Study of Whittier's Apprenticeship as a Poet | |