Amy Lowell

From “Chalks: Black, Red, White”

IT is late

And the clock is striking thin hours,

But sleep has become a terror to me,

Lest I wake in the night

Bewildered,

And stretching out my arms to comfort myself with you,

Clasp instead the cold body of the darkness.

All night it will hunger over me,

And push and undulate against me,

Breathing into my mouth

And passing long fingers through my drifting hair.

Only the dawn can loose me from it,

And the gray streaks of morning melt it from my side.

Bring many candles,

Though they stab my tired brain

And hurt it.

For I am afraid of the twining of the darkness

And dare not sleep.