Poem by Trumbull Stickney

Six O'Clock

NOW burst above the city's cold twilight
The piercing whistles and the tower-clocks:
For day is done. Along the frozen docks
The workmen set their ragged shirts aright.
Thro' factory doors a stream of dingy light
Follows the scrimmage as it quickly flocks
To hut and home among the snow's gray blocks.--
I love you, human labourers. Good-night!
Good-night to all the blackened arms that ache!
Good-night to every sick and sweated brow,
To the poor girl that strength and love forsake,
To the poor boy who can no more! I vow
The victim soon shall shudder at the stake
And fall in blood: we bring him even now.

1. And, the Last Day Being Come
2. Leave Him Now Quiet by the Way
3. I Hear a River thro' the Valley Wander
4. Dramatic Fragment
5. Be Still. The Hanging Gardens Were a Dream

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