Poem by Dorothy Parker

Midnight

The stars are soft as flowers, and as near;
The hills are webs of shadow, slowly spun;
No separate leaf or single blade is here-
All blend to one.

No moonbeam cuts the air; a sapphire light
Rolls lazily. and slips again to rest.
There is no edged thing in all this night,
Save in my breast.

1. Portrait of the Artist
2. Chant for Dark Hours
3. Inventory
4. They Part
5. The Immortals

Annie Fields Midnight ("NIGHT, with thy passionless stars!")

Print

1718 Views

Last Poems

To Russian version