I have been one acquainted
with the night.
I have walked out in rain—and back in rain.
I have outwalked the furthest
city light.
I have looked down the saddest
city lane.
I have passed by the watchman
on his beat
And dropped my eyes, unwilling
to explain.
I have stood still and stopped
the sound of feet
When far away an interrupted
cry
Came over houses from another
street,
But not to call me back or say
good-bye;
And further still at an
unearthly height,
One luminary clock against the
sky
Proclaimed the time was
neither wrong nor right.
I have been one acquainted
with the night.
The Journey by Mary Oliver
One day you finally knew
what you had to do, and began,
though the voices around you
kept shouting
their bad advice--
though the whole house
began to tremble
and you felt the old tug
at your ankles.
"Mend my life!"
each voice cried.
But you didn't stop.
You knew what you had to do,
though the wind pried
with its stiff fingers
at the very foundations,
though their melancholy
was terrible.
It was already late
enough, and a wild night,
and the road full of fallen
branches and stones.
But little by little,
as you left their voices behind,
the stars began to burn
through the sheets of clouds,
and there was a new voice
which you slowly
recognized as your own,
that kept you company
as you strode deeper and deeper
into the world,
determined to do
the only thing you could do--
determined to save
the only life you could save
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