Classic Poem

You walk by day:
I with the negro, Night!—When all is dark,
The sick moon absent, and the stars all hid,
We curse together,—curse all shades of men,
Like brothers in one great calamity.
Am I not shorn of beams? Is not my fate
Black? starless? sunless? When warm airs come down
From Heaven, what know I of the flowery times?
What of abundant harvest hours?—nought, nought!
I'm cold; I'm hard. The wolf, who has no mate,
And scarce a meal, and's forced to howl all night
His hunger to Siberian snows, doth live
In a world too bleak for pity:—So do I.
I am a wolf,—who prowl all night for prey,
Desperate, remorseless!