Claude McKay (Клод Маккей)

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.

1. Alfonso, Dressing to Wait at Table
2. The Wild Goat
3. The Tired Worker
4. Tormented
5. Flirtation

Распечатать (Print)

Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1204

Последние стихотворения

To English version