Explore "Alarm Clocks" by Joyce Kilmer on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
When Dawn strides out to wake a dewy farm / Across green fields and yellow hills of hay / The little twittering birds laugh in his way / And poise triumphant on his shining arm. / He bears a sword of flame but not to harm / The wakened life that feels his quickening sway / And barnyard voices shrilling "It is day! " / Take by his grace a new and alien charm.
But in the city, like a wounded thing / That limps to cover from the angry chase, / He steals down streets where sickly arc-lights sing, / And wanly mock his young and shameful face; / And tiny gongs with cruel fervour ring / In many a high and dreary sleeping place.