Стихи и рассказы из категории oclock

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At last
I am alone
Nothing can be heard but the rumbling of a few belated and weary cabs
For a few hours at least silence will be ours, if not sleep
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At three in the morning I used to be sleeping an untroubledsleep in my bed
But lately at three in the morning I'm tossing and turning,
Awakened by hypochondria, and gas, and nameless dread,
Whose name I've been learning
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This is the time of day when we in the Men's
Think "one more surge of the pain and I give up the fight
"When he who struggles for breath can struggle less strongly:
This is the time of day which is worse than night
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The houses are
By white night-gowns
None are green,
Or purple with green rings,
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Half past twelve
Time has gone by quicklysince nine o'clock when I lit the lampand sat down here
I've been sitting without reading,without speaking
Completely alone in the house,whom could I talk to
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