of the night that is coming to me. I know out there Some one is thinking of me, some one is wondering about me, Some one is needing me, some one is dying for my sake, Yet I remain alone. I know that life is calling: I cannot resist it: Too much of myself I have given ever to turn away, I know that shame, sickness, death itself shall befall me, And I am afraid. O night, hide me in your long cold arms: Let me sleep, but let me not live this life! There are too many people with haggard eyes standing before me Saying, "To live you must suffer even as we."  Yet life bitterly bids me: "Go on to the last, No matter the mud and the cold rain and the darkness: No matter the drear pilgrims in whose eyes you shall look for long, And see all suffering, madness, death and despair."  Because my heart is cramped in, Because I have suffered much, Because my hope is like a candle-flame quenched at midnight, Because I dare dream yet of joy, I can take my night and the life that is coming to me. II THE EVENING RAIN O the rain of the evening is an infinite thing, As it slowly slips on the motionless pavement; Greasy and grey is the rain of the evening, As it dribbles into the dirty gutters And slides down the drains with a roar! Ragged men cower Under the doorways: Umbrellas nod like drowsy birds. Bat-umbrellas, Teetering, balancing, Where will you spread your wings to-night? Tangled between the factory-chimneys, I have seen the golden lamps wake this evening: Spinning and whirling, darting and dancing, Tangled with the glittering rain. Omnibuses lurch Heavily homeward Elephants tinselled in tawdry gold: Taxicabs fight Like wild birds squalling, Wild birds with roaring, clattering wings. O the rain of the evening is an infinite thing, As it shivers to jewel-heaps spilt on the pavement. The façades frown gloomily at its beauty, The façades are dreaming of the day. With rippling, curling, Serpentine convolutions The pavements drip with drunken light. Crimson and gold, Shot with opal, They glare against the sullen night. O the rain of the evening is an infinite thing As it slowly dries on the dirty pavement. Red low-browed clouds jut over the sky: And in the cool sky there are stars. III STREET OF SORROWS You street of sorrows bending Over your golden lamps in the evening; Dark street that is very silent, And everywhere the same: Elsewhere there is song and riot, Like golden fireflies flickering, Elsewhere the crane's gaunt muscles Tug the city up to the stars. But who in the dawn should come near you? There are dry leaves rattling behind him. And who should come in the noonday? There are shadows that squat on the pave. And who should come in the evening? There is one: a ship in dark waters. And who should come at nightfall, To feel cold hands at his 

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