1 min read
Слушать(AI)Dawn in New York
The Dawn!
The Dawn!
The crimson-tinted, comes Out of the low still skies, over the hills,
Manhattan's roofs and spires and cheerless domes!
The Dawn!
My spirit to its spirit thrills.
Almost the mighty city is asleep,
No pushing crowd, no tramping, tramping feet.
But here and there a few cars groaning creep Along, above, and underneath the street,
Bearing their strangely-ghostly burdens by,
The women and the men of garish nights,
Their eyes wine-weakened and their clothes awry,
Grotesques beneath the strong electric lights.
The shadows wane.
The Dawn comes to New York.
And I go darkly-rebel to my work.
Claude McKay
Festus Claudius "Claude" McKay (September 15, 1889[1] – May 22, 1948) was a Jamaican writer and poet, and was a central figure in the Harlem Ren
Comments
You need to be signed in to write comments
Other author posts
When I Have Passed Away
When I have passed away and am forgotten, And no one living can recall my face, When under alien sod my bones lie rotten With not a tree or stone to mark the place; Perchance a pensive youth, with passion burning, For olden verse that sm...
The Castaways
The vivid grass with visible delight Springing triumphant from the pregnant earth, The butterflies, and sparrows in brief flight Chirping and dancing for the season's birth, The dandelions and rare daffodils That touch the deep-stirred h...
The Spanish Needle
Lovely dainty Spanish needle With your yellow flower and white, Dew bedecked and softly sleeping, Do you think of me to-night Shadowed by the spreading mango, Nodding o'er the rippling stream, Tell me, dear plant of my childhood, Do...
North and South
O sweet are tropic lands for waking dreams There time and life move lazily along There by the banks of blue-and-silver streams Grass-sheltered crickets chirp incessant song, Gay-colored lizards loll all through the day, Their tongue...