Insomnia

A LONG the brazen skirts of sound
The wheels of all the night turn round;
Silence on silence intervolved,
Into the solemn pulse resolved,
Draws roaring thunder down the night.
A great clock treads from left to right;
Mice run about their small affairs
And ghostly feet creak on the stairs;
The furniture about the room
Makes little noises in the gloom;
Outside, amid unnumbered leaves,
The sleepless night wind stirs and heaves…
The stars, like twenty million eyes,
Stare lidless from eternal skies.
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