Evening Twilight Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis
Rhyme Scheme: AABBCCBBDDEEFGHIJJKL MNBLOOPPBQRSTTBBUV| Here s the criminal s friend delightful evening | A |
| come like an accomplice with a wolf s loping | A |
| slowly the sky s vast vault hides each feature | B |
| and restless man becomes a savage creature | B |
| Evening sweet evening desired by him who can say | C |
| without his arms proving him a liar Today | C |
| we ve worked It refreshes this evening hour | B |
| those spirits that savage miseries devour | B |
| the dedicated scholar with heavy head | D |
| the bowed workman stumbling home to bed | D |
| Yet now unhealthy demons rise again | E |
| clumsily in the air like busy men | E |
| beat against sheds and arches in their flight | F |
| And among the wind tormented gas lights | G |
| Prostitution switches on through the streets | H |
| opening her passageways like an ant heap | I |
| weaving her secret tunnels everywhere | J |
| like an enemy planning a coup she s there | J |
| burrowing into the wombs of the city s mires | K |
| like a worm stealing from Man what it desires | L |
| Here there you catch the kitchens whistles | M |
| the orchestras droning the theatres yells | N |
| low dives where gambling s all the pleasure | B |
| filling with whores and crooks their partners | L |
| and the thieves who show no respite or mercy | O |
| will soon be setting to work as they tenderly | O |
| they too toil at forcing safes and doorways | P |
| to live clothe their girls for a few more days | P |
| Collect yourself my soul at this grave hour | B |
| and close your ears to the rising howl | Q |
| It s now that the pains of the sick increase | R |
| Dark Night clasps them by the throat they reach | S |
| their journey s end the common pit s abandon | T |
| the hospital fills with their sighs Many a one | T |
| will never return to their warm soup by the fire | B |
| by the hearth at evening next to their heart s desire | B |
| And besides the majority have never known | U |
| never having lived the gentleness of home | V |
Charles Baudelaire
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