A cloudless night like this br Can set the spirit soaring: br After a tiring day br The clockwork spectacle is br Impressive in a slightly boring br Eighteenth-century way. br br It soothed adolescence a lot br To meet so shameless a stare; br The things I did could not br Be so shocking as they said br If that would still be there br After the shocked were dead br br Now, unready to die br Bur already at the stage br When one starts to resent the young, br I am glad those points in the sky br May also be counted among br The creatures of middle-age. br br It's cosier thinking of night br As more an Old People's Home br Than a shed for a faultless machine, br That the red pre-Cambrian light br Is gone like Imperial Rome br Or myself at seventeen. br br Yet however much we may like br The stoic manner in which br The classical authors wrote, br Only the young and rich br Have the nerve or the figure to strike br The lacrimae rerum note. br br For the present stalks abroad br Like the past and its wronged again br Whimper and are ignored, br And the truth cannot be hid; br Somebody chose their pain, br What needn't have happened did. br br Occurring this very night br By no established rule, br Some event may already have hurled br Its first little No at the right br Of the laws we accept to school br Our post-diluvian world: br br But the stars burn on overhead, br Unconscious of final ends, br As I walk home to bed, br Asking what judgment waits br My person, all my friends, br And these United States.