Issue 82, Winter 1981
Behave, my Sorrow! let’s have no more scenes.
Evening’s what you wanted—Evening’s here:
a gradual darkness overtakes the town,
bringing peace to some, to others pain.
Now, while humanity racks up remorse
in low distractions under Pleasure’s lash,
grovelling for a ruthless master—come
away, my Sorrow, leave them! Give me your hand. . .
See bow the dear departed dowdy years
crowd the balconies of heaven, leaning down,
while smiling out of the sea appears Regret;
the Sun will die in its sleep beneath a bridge,
and trailing westward like a winding-sheet—
listen, my dear!—bow softly Night arrives.