Poem Lake | Page 5 | The Greatest Poems of All Time

My Spectre around me night & day * * *^[1] My Spectre around me night & day Like a Wild beast guards my way My Emanation far within Weeps incessantly for my Sin... Poet:	On such a night, or such a night, On such a night, or such a night, Would anybody care If such a little figure Slipped quiet from its chair — So quiet — Oh how quiet, That nobody might know But that the little figure ... Poet:	Our share of night to bear — Poet:	Silent, Silent Night * * * Silent, Silent Night Quench the holy light Of thy torches bright. For possess'd of Day Thousand spirits stray That sweet joys betray. Why should joys be... Poet:
Some say goodnight — at night — Some say goodnight — at night — I say goodnight by day — Good-bye — the Going utter me — Goodnight, I still reply — For parting, that is night, And presence, simply dawn — Itself, the purple on the... Poet:	Somehow myself survived the Night Somehow myself survived the Night And entered with the Day — That it be saved the Saved suffice Without the Formula. Henceforth I take my living place As one commuted led — A Candidate for Morning... Poet:	Sunset at Night — is natural — Sunset at Night — is natural — But Sunset on the Dawn Reverses Nature — Master — So Midnight's — due — at Noon. Eclipses be — predicted — And Science bows them in — But do one face us suddenly —... Poet:	The first Day's Night had come — The first Day's Night had come — And grateful that a thing So terrible — had been endured — I told my Soul to sing — She said her Strings were snapt — Her Bow — to Atoms blown — And so to mend her —... Poet:
The last Night that She lived She mentioned, and forgot; Then lightly as a reed Bent to the water, shivered scarce, Consented, and was dead. And we, we placed the hair, And drew the head erect; And then an awful leisure was,... Poet:	The Night was wide, and furnished scant The Night was wide, and furnished scant With but a single Star — That often as a Cloud it met — Blew out itself — for fear — The Wind pursued the little Bush — And drove away the Leaves November left... Poet: