Poetry
To-Night
Harry, you know at night
The larks in Castle Alley
Sing from the attic's height
As if the electric light
Were the true sun above a summer valley:
Whistle, don't knock, to-night.
I shall come early, Kate:
And we in Castle Alley
Will sit close out of site
Alone, and ask no light
Of lamp or sun above a summer valley:
To-night I can stay late.
Edward Thomas
