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I've walked out far into the night

 
I’ve walked out far into the night,
foot-marked its sad beginnings and its ends.
I’ve measured-stepped myself within
its deepest deprivations of starlight and all the circling moon’s cold whisperings
upon the lawns, the fences, and the heaths
that lined my ambled way.
I’ve stood upon its shadings of
the cobblestones along my street,
and braved its scoldings in
its chilling bursts of wind,
its sudden angry blusters that
it sends through narrow alleyways
and lays upon the dark-leaved trees.
I’ve tasted its concealings of the lovers’ bliss
the dying one’s lament,
the sorrowings that move, conspire,
to separate the hopeless from their lives.
I’ve seen just how it serves a storyteller’s art
when he, in hollow voice, spools out a tale
of ghosts and paling, flitting, empty things
by ringing it in tingling mysteries
that only night-time knows.
I’ve seen the lonely porch light softly signify
the wee houred welcoming that still
awaits the weary one, work pressed deprived
his home.
I’ve heard the poor dog’s tethered lamentations sound
his plaint against a dark abandonment.
And I have known the daybreak’s slowly born
constraint of dusk’s despoilings and its joys
for I have walked out far within the night.
Written by Baldwin
Published
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