New moon today. No light tonight for me.
I must prepare for tears to give me sleep.
This nighttime there will be nothing to see—
less than all other nights, however deep.
And I will look up for the light that should
be there, where there are only feeble stars,
whose light is negligent, so fast withstood
by night’s foul shawl that all little lights tars.
Night’s pitch will have me, too—will keep me from
the only sight that I want any eve.
Because, just as the moon will never come,
you, too, for whate’er reason, have to leave.
For you are light, my darling; and the night
obscures you and serrates you from my sight.
~
Come, Morning! Do not knock! Break down the door!
Bring me my sweet sunrise, and let me feel
that night is not—is not! Is nevermore!
Let me to my love make a hasty heel!
Let her in, Morning! Let her come to me!
And let me fall before her as in prayer,
and hold her golden hem, and be—and be
the happiest of any, anywhere!
Dread Morning! Where do you hide out of doors?
Come in, you cruel one! Have you no key
to fill this home whose habitant adores
you—and who loves the one you let me see?
Who cannot wait to see her sunbeam train?
Born by her presence—by her absence, slain?