Dawn in New York: Difference between revisions
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<meta | <meta | ||
author="McKay, Claude" | author="McKay, Claude" | ||
year_of_publication="1922" | year_of_publication="1922" | ||
genre="Poetry" | genre="Poetry" | ||
publisher=" | publisher="Harcourt, Brace and Company" | ||
journal="Harlem Shadows" | journal="Harlem Shadows: The Poems of Claude McKay" | ||
page_range="43" | page_range="43" | ||
/> | /> | ||
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<paragraph keywords=" | <paragraph keywords="city, urban, car, metaphor, sound, personification"> | ||
<poem> | <poem> | ||
The Dawn! The Dawn! The crimson-tinted, | The Dawn! The Dawn! The crimson-tinted, comes | ||
comes | |||
Out of the low still skies, over the hills, | Out of the low still skies, over the hills, | ||
Manhattan's roofs and spires and cheerless domes! | Manhattan's roofs and spires and cheerless domes! | ||
The Dawn! My spirit to its spirit thrills. | The Dawn! My spirit to its spirit thrills. | ||
Almost the mighty city is asleep, | Almost the mighty city is asleep, | ||
No pushing crowd, no tramping, tramping feet. | No pushing crowd, no tramping, tramping feet. | ||
| Line 26: | Line 24: | ||
Their eyes wine-weakened and their clothes awry, | Their eyes wine-weakened and their clothes awry, | ||
Grotesques beneath the strong electric lights. | Grotesques beneath the strong electric lights. | ||
The shadows wane. The Dawn comes to New | The shadows wane. The Dawn comes to New York. | ||
York. | |||
And I go darkly-rebel to my work. | And I go darkly-rebel to my work. | ||
</poem> | </poem> | ||
</paragraph> | </paragraph> | ||
</annotations> | </annotations> | ||
Latest revision as of 15:58, 16 July 2024
| Author | McKay, Claude |
|---|---|
| Genre | Poetry |
| Journal or Book | Harlem Shadows: The Poems of Claude McKay |
| Publisher | Harcourt, Brace and Company |
| Year of Publication | 1922 |
| Pages | 43 |
| Additional information | - |
The Dawn! The Dawn! The crimson-tinted, comes
Out of the low still skies, over the hills,
Manhattan's roofs and spires and cheerless domes!
The Dawn! My spirit to its spirit thrills.
Almost the mighty city is asleep,
No pushing crowd, no tramping, tramping feet.
But here and there a few cars groaning creep
Along, above, and underneath the street,
Bearing their strangely-ghostly burdens by,
The women and the men of garish nights,
Their eyes wine-weakened and their clothes awry,
Grotesques beneath the strong electric lights.
The shadows wane. The Dawn comes to New York.
And I go darkly-rebel to my work.
