Page:Poems and Baudelaire Flowers.djvu/28

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POEMS


III. EVENING

The evening closes in;
A-down this last long lane
I plod; there patter round
First heavy drops of rain.

Feet ache, legs ache, but now
Step quickens as I think
Of mounds of bread and cheese
And something hot to drink.

IV. NIGHT

Ah! sleep is sweet, but yet
I will not sleep awhile
Nor for a space forget
The toil of that last mile;

But lie awake and feel
The cool sheets’ tremulous kisses
O’er all my body steal. . . .
Is sleep as sweet as this is?