A pageant of poets and other poems By James Chapman Woods |
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WHAT OF THE NIGHT |
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 | A pageant of poets and other poems |  |
56
WHAT OF THE NIGHT
While the deep shadows muster—in which dead faces cluster,—
And swamp Life's lingering daytime, and all its lights go down,
Has Death staged wild surprises before his Curtain rises?
What Play comes next to town?
And swamp Life's lingering daytime, and all its lights go down,
Has Death staged wild surprises before his Curtain rises?
What Play comes next to town?
In worlds of bliss and sorrow shall we but find, tomorrow,
A subtler rarefaction of senses, blunt today,
Wherewith to reap the guerdon, or bear the endless burden
Earned in the ended Play?
A subtler rarefaction of senses, blunt today,
Wherewith to reap the guerdon, or bear the endless burden
Earned in the ended Play?
Or is the scene not shifted—the Curtain dropped and lifted?—
Back to the life of striving, much care and little ease;
Trapped in the mine, the brickyard, the forge, the trench, the rickyard;
The swift, ship-hunting Seas!
Back to the life of striving, much care and little ease;
Trapped in the mine, the brickyard, the forge, the trench, the rickyard;
The swift, ship-hunting Seas!
Or will the Past be riven—forgotten and forgiven,—
Asperged from all the passion, the heartbreak, and the pain?
Man in a world new-shriven—from which the Snake is driven—
Be free to start again?
Asperged from all the passion, the heartbreak, and the pain?
Man in a world new-shriven—from which the Snake is driven—
Be free to start again?
| A pageant of poets and other poems | |