Claude McKay

(15 September 1889 – 22 May 1948 / Clarendon)

The Tired Worker - Poem by Claude McKay

O whisper, O my soul! The afternoon
Is waning into evening, whisper soft!
Peace, O my rebel heart! for soon the moon
From out its misty veil will swing aloft!
Be patient, weary body, soon the night
Will wrap thee gently in her sable sheet,
And with a leaden sigh thou wilt invite
To rest thy tired hands and aching feet.
The wretched day was theirs, the night is mine;
Come tender sleep, and fold me to thy breast.
But what steals out the gray clouds like red wine?
O dawn! O dreaded dawn! O let me rest
Weary my veins, my brain, my life! Have pity!
No! Once again the harsh, the ugly city.


Comments about The Tired Worker by Claude McKay

  • (2/5/2016 10:50:00 PM)


    The wretched day was their, the night is mine
    Come tender sleep, and fold me to thy breast.
    The psych and emotions of over worked and tired worker have been beautifully portrayed. Thanks for sharing.
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  • Mohammed Asim Nehal (2/5/2016 9:11:00 AM)


    Weary my veins, my brain, my life! Have pity!
    No! Once again the harsh, the ugly city.
    (Report) Reply

  • Ahmed Gumaa Siddiek (2/5/2016 5:02:00 AM)


    Weary my veins, my brain, my life! Have pity!
    No! Once again the harsh, the ugly city.

    A poem of condolence and share of human sufferings. Very human and touching.
    (Report) Reply

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Read poems about / on: city, moon, peace, red, sleep, night, heart, life



Poem Submitted: Friday, January 3, 2003



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