In the Dark

Having bitten on life like a sharp apple 
Or, playing it like a fish, been happy, 

Having felt with fingers that the sky is blue, 
What have we after that to look forward to?

Not the twilight of the gods but a precise dawn 
of sallow and grey bricks, and newsboys crying war.

by Louis MacNeice (1907-1963)

This entry was posted on February 11, 2025 at 9:19 pm and is filed under Poetry with tags Aubade, Louis MacNeice, Poem, Poetry. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.