All those treasures that lie in the little bolted box whose tiny space is
Mightier than the room of the stars, being secret and filled with dreams:
All those treasures-I hold them in my hand-are straining continually
Against the sides and the lid and the two ends of the little box in which I guard them;
Crying that there is no sun come among them this great while and that they weary of shining;
Calling me to fold back the lid of the little box and to give them sleep finally.
But the night I am hiding from them, dear friend, is far more desperate than their night!
And so I take pity on them and pretend to have lost the key to the little house of my treasures;
For they would die of weariness were I to open it, and not be merely faint and sleepy
As they are now.
Slow Movement
William Carlos Williams
(1)
Poem topics: friend, house, lost, sleep, space, sun, dear, great, room, secret, pretend, hold, open, shining, continually, guard, night, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
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