In the morning
perhaps I shall find strength again
To value the immense beauty of this time of the world, the flowers of decay their pitiful loveliness, the fever-dream
Tapestries that back the drama and are called the future. This ebb of vitality feels the ignoble and cruel
Incidents, not the vast abstract order.
From "Night Without Sleep" by Robinson Jeffers, 1938. Read the complete poem at Poetry Foundation.
Night and Her Children, Sleep and Death, Asmus Jakob Carstens, 1794. Image from Web Gallery of Art
4 comments:
Whitman has a line in one of his war poems: "That the hands of the sisters/ Death and night/ Incessantly, softly wash again and ever again/ This soiled world."
There is a morning sense of being cleansed, even after a rough night.
I understand what you mean, Bozo--and wow, great Whitman line. I need to hunt up that poem. It's funny you should mention Whitman, because I was reading him just last night and thought about putting up something from "Song of Myself."
BG-- The poem is "Reconciliation." It's from a collection of Whitman's Civil War poetry called "Drum Taps." It's in the Norton Anthology.
Thanks, Bozo. I'll go look at it this evening. I think Whitman is just what I need.
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