Nocturne

by Eugene O'Neill

Free

Weary am I of the tumult, sick of the staring crowd, 

Pining for wild sea places where the soul may think aloud. 

Fled is the glamour of cities, dead as the ghost of a dream, 

While I pine anew for the tint of blue on the breast of the old Gulf Stream. 

I have had my dance with Folly, nor do I shirk the blame ; 

I have sipped the so-called Wine of Life and paid the price of shame; 

But I know that I shall find surcease, the rest my spirit craves, 

Where the rainbows play in the flying spray, 

'Mid the keen salt kiss of the waves. 

Then it's ho! for the plunging deck of a bark, the hoarse song of the crew, 

With never a thought of those we left or what we are going to do; 

Nor heed the old ship's burning, but break the shackles of care 

And at last be free, on the open sea, with the trade wind in our hair. 

A Regular Sort Of A Guy 

He fights where the fighting is thickest

And keeps his high honor clean;

From finish to start, he is sturdy of heart,

Shunning the petty and mean;

With his friends in their travail and sorrow,

He is ever there to stand by,

And hark to their plea, for they all know that he

Is a regular sort of a guy.

He cheers up the sinner repentant

And sets him again on his feet;

He is there with a slap, and a pat on the back,

For the lowliest bum on the street;

He smiles when the going is hardest,

With a spirit no money can buy;

And take it from me, we all love him 'cause he

Is a regular sort of a guy.

I don't care for the praise of the nations,

Or a niche in the great hall of fame,

Or that posterity should remember me

When my dust and the dust are the same;

But my soul will be glad if my friends say

As they turn from my bier with a sigh

"Though he left no great name, yet he played out the game

Like a regular sort of a guy." 

Nocturne 

The sunset gun booms out in hollow roar 

Night breathes upon the waters of the bay 

The river lies, a symphony in grey, 

Melting in shadow on the further shore. 

A sullen coal barge tugs its anchor chain 

A shadow sinister, with one faint light 

Flickering wanly in the dim twilight, 

It lies upon the harbor like a stain. 

Silence. Then through the stillness rings 

The fretful echo of a seagull's scream, 

As if one cried who sees within a dream 

Deep rooted sorrow in the heart of things. 

The cry that Sorrow knows and would complain 

And impotently struggle to express - 

Some secret shame, some hidden bitterness - 

Yet evermore must sing the same refrain. 

Silence once more. The air seems in a swoon 

Beneath the heavens' thousand opening eyes 

While from the far horizon's edge arise 

The first faint silvery tresses of the moon.